


After the End

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Dark, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Time, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Loss of Virginity, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: Sansa knew there had been dark moments when she had wished all Lannisters to end as dragon food. Her unholy idea had come true now, but she felt no satisfaction – and not only because she'd share this fate. No. Those feelings had burned themselves out. Sansa didn't have the strength to nurture any hatred against the Kingslayer anymore, no matter what he had done. She was too weak for any strong feelings now. Exhausted. Simple as that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, nor would I ever seek to make any profit from this. Everything belongs to GRRM.

So here they were, the last two ones who were left of those who had been jailed here over the last weeks. The Stranger was bound to find them soon, like he had already done with regard to the others.

It was pitch dark, which was good, so their misery was at least not visible. It was enough to listen to the dripping of the moisture on the massive stone walls, the occasional squeak of a rat, to hear their jangling fetters whenever they moved. It was enough to smell their stink after the long time in the dungeon and with only an old pail for their primary needs in reach. It was enough to taste the brackish water and the mildewy bread they had been given – the only kind of alimentation they had got.

And it was enough to hear Ser Jaime's ceaseless, more than half-mad sobs and wails. Yes, yes, it was good Sansa couldn't see.

 

She felt dead on the inside – as if it were in anticipation of what was to come.

Her mental and emotional state had certainly not begun, because Cersei Lannister had been the last one who had been dragged out of the cell to meet her fate. Nor had the other departures impressed her: the ones of Petyr Baelish, of Tommen, Lancel, or of her husband Tyrion, of Stannis Baratheon or of Lord Randyll Tarly.

Sansa's guts had frozen when she had spotted the dragons in the sky and when she had witnessed the Inn at the Crossroads turn into a giant torch. She'd never forget Lady Brienne of Tarth's and Arya's final screams. The tall warrior woman had just helped the Stark sisters to find each other again... when all the happiness had been snuffed out again in an instant.

Had Sansa not been on the privy outside she'd have died on that fateful day. She only wished she _had_ died. As it was, her death by dragon fire had just been postponed for a short while.

 

For a moment, Sansa remembered how she had met her long-lost husband in this cell again.

“ _What a surprise,”_ Sansa thought. _“And now I'm a widow, though Tyrion and I have never consummated our marriage and it was never valid.”_

Then, she thought of how the jailer had made a show of presenting Jaime the charred bones of his dead family members. After that, the Kingslayer had been catatonic for a long time – until he had imploded. Sansa was already beyond that; she had no tears left.

 

A bitter chuckle rose in Sansa's throat.

“What!?” Ser Jaime snapped, and Sansa was mildly surprised the man next to her reacted at all.

“Oh, nothing,” Sansa answered in a brittle voice. “I was just thinking about fate's irony. That I'll die as a maid and that I'll never know what all the hubbub is about.”

A rattle of the fetters next to her indicated a shrug or some other sort of dismissive gesture.

 

Sansa mused about how her septa's teachings were not relevant anymore.

She asked: “Lust – is it all worth it?”

Ser Jaime uttered a mad cackle, and he sounded a bit like Joffrey. It caused Sansa to shiver.

“Ah, Lady Sansa, I wouldn't have known happiness in life if not for those stolen moments... But what do I actually know?”

Renewed sobs followed. It would have been heartbreaking if Sansa's heart had still been capable of breaking.

 

Sansa thought of how the Lannisters had harmed her family. Had harmed her.

“ _Had all those things not happened, more people would be in this cell now to await their death,”_ she realised. _“The Targaryan woman would seek revenge even more fiercely, had more participants from Robert's Rebellion survived until now.”_

 

Sansa knew there had been dark moments when she had wished all Lannisters to end as dragon food. Her unholy idea had come true now, but she felt no satisfaction – and not only because she'd share this fate. No. Those feelings had burned themselves out. Sansa didn't have the strength to nurture any hatred against the Kingslayer anymore, no matter what he had done. She was too weak for any strong feelings now. Exhausted. Simple as that.

 

Aloud, she said: “Ser Jaime – can you do me a favour? Like... granting me a last wish?”

When the man at her side answered, his voice was rife with disbelief.

“A wish? What could I possibly do?”

 

Sansa closed her eyes, even if the gesture made no difference in the darkness.

“Can you take my maidenhood?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

What followed was a long silence.

Then: “You're mad, Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa pondered this statement.

“Yes, I guess that's true. As mad as the situation dictates. But this realisation doesn't alter my wish, and you're my only option.”

 

Ser Jaime snorted. A spark of his old tartness crept back into his voice.

“Ask the jailer to do you the favour. I'm convinced he'll be at your service. More than that, actually. He'll be all too willing. Enthusiastic even.”

 

Sansa shook her head though she knew the Kingslayer couldn't see it.

“Remember your sister's words – he's got a... a venereal disease.”

“One of her last vitriolic comments.”

Sansa felt Ser Jaime's pain when he spoke. As if he wished those nasty remarks back.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Sansa spoke. “But I've got no wish to lie down with the man who'll be leading me to my execution.”

“You'd prefer a man who's fucked his sister and who's fathered the child that has been responsible for your father's death? The man who hurt your father before and who attempted to murder your brother?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered, though she did feel a slight wave of nausea. This sort of reaction was already more than she had felt for days.

Ser Jaime uttered a hissing sound.

“That really tops it all.”

“I know.”

 

After a while, Ser Jaime spoke up again.

“The answer is 'no', Lady Sansa. I wish I were my old, arrogant self and could feel flattered, but I'm even beyond that.”

 

Sansa leaned her head against the moist wall behind her.

“Why not? Because of your sister? She's dead now.”

 

A trace of anger mingled with despair when the Kingslayer answered.

“I haven't fucked Cersei for years – if you want to know it. Not since shortly after Joffrey's death.”

Sansa's eyebrows rose.

“You did it to comfort each other, didn't you? This wouldn't be so far off.”

Ser Jaime snorted.

“It would be as similar as the sun and the moon. Lady Sansa, I've never had another woman.”

“And you've never felt desire for another one?”

 

There was a short, but revealing silence.

Quickly, Ser Jaime changed his tactics.

“Lady Sansa, I don't desire you, that's what counts. You're too young, and my cock simply isn't interested enough to get hard.”

 

Sansa sighed.

“I'm as good as a woman grown. I'm not the girl you first met when you came to Winterfell. I've lived in King's Landing, and I've been in the Vale for so long. And with regard to your... your member... what if you tried to imagine I were... someone else?”

“WHAT!?” Ser Jaime exclaimed.

“I wouldn't be angry, I promise,” Sansa emphasised.

“Gods!” the Kingslayer groaned and sounded as if he were speaking with his hands in front of his face.

 

Sansa gave up then. She knew the idea had been borne of despair, and despair was rarely a good counsellor.

Neither of them spoke any more.

 

After a few minutes, however, Sansa heard the Kingslayer move. There was the soft rustle of cloth. Then the sound of skin on skin, some sort of rubbing.

Sansa remembered Myranda Royce and her smutty gossip of how men touched themselves. Sansa's heartbeat accelerated.

 

“Put off what smallclothes you've still got, Lady Sansa, and come here. Quick!” the Kingslayer growled.

Her hands started to shake when she obeyed, but she managed to carry out the task at hand.

“Kneel over my lap,” Ser Jaime instructed her.

Sansa followed his order and lowered herself some more. She felt the tip of his shaft against her womanhood.

“It'll hurt, I can't help it,” the Kingslayer grumbled. “I can't prepare you here, in this darkness, in this dirt – and we're no lovers, but both unhinged by grief, so there can't be any joy.”

“I know,” Sansa replied. “It's all right. Do it.”

 

He brought himself in position, then pulled her down onto his member. Sansa helped him by moving down forcefully.

Pain erupted inside of her, causing her to squeal, and she welcomed the feeling, even if it was a negative one. She hadn't felt so much for so long.

 

“Easy now,” Ser Jaime panted and put his arms around her to hold her in place.

A tear rolled down Sansa's cheek, but that was all right. She felt embarrassed by his presence inside of her, but she wasn't one bit sorry.

“Well, now that's really close,” she mumbled.

“Yes, it is, isn't it?” Ser Jaime commented and went on: “Fuck, I'm softening again!”

 

It was true. Sansa could feel his member become smaller and flaccid inside of her. She didn't know how to react to this.

“Shall... shall I move away then?”

The Kingslayer snorted.

“Do what you want, I've done what I could.”

That answer didn't help. Sansa focused on where they were still joined.

“You're warm down there.”

Ser Jaime let his head bump against the wall behind him.

“Now that's true, you're warm, too, and this blasted cell is fucking cold. No pun intended. So you can stay just as well.”

 

What followed was incredibly awkward. Sansa kept sitting where she was. The initial pain was already abating. The presence of Ser Jaime's member continued to be embarrassing, but his body heat was too agreeable to cause her to leave. Sansa even relaxed, utterly uncomfortable surroundings notwithstanding. She leaned against the man who had claimed her maidenhood and pressed her face against the crook of his shoulder. A moment later, Ser Jaime's good hand started to comb through her hair, and that gesture elicited a purr from Sansa.

 

“Don't breathe in too deeply,” Ser Jaime advised her. “We're both so smelly after all this time in here.”

Sansa shrugged against his torso and pressed herself closer.

They continued to sit like that for a long time. There were moments when Ser Jaime's shaft hardened to some extent, and he ground himself against her a little, which felt nice, but nothing really came of it. Still, Sansa didn't object. She was content with what she had reached. True, she hadn't found the lust and happiness other women had got to know, but this experience was fair enough in her opinion. Better than what she could have ever expected with other men.

 

“Thank you,” she mumbled against the neck opening of Ser Jaime's grubby tunic and yawned.

“You're welcome, my lady,” Ser Jaime murmured back.

Sansa felt heavier and more relaxed with every moment that passed between them, and she dozed off.

 

The screech of rusty dungeon door hinges woke her with a jolt – that and the harsh light of a lantern, which caused Sansa to avert her face.

Last, but not least, there was the jailer's sadistic, booming voice: “Kingslayer! Time fer ya t'meet some people. The queen, her dragons, an' the Stranger. In that order. – What in the bloody name of...?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa clambered away from Ser Jaime and then, she helped the one-handed knight to close the laces of his trousers. She got a short glance at his shaft, but it didn't matter any more in the face of what was to happen next.

 

“Lil' missy lady's had fun with them traitor,” the jailer commented with a sneer. “I'll come back for ye an' show you sumthin' better when I'm done with this job.”

 

By then, Ser Jaime was standing. He had lost weight since Sansa had actually seen him last and was as thin as a stick – but that was hardly a surprise. She wasn't faring much better herself.

“Scumbag,” the Kingslayer growled. “I'll tell you something. When I see the queen, I'll inform her you're intending to rape her last valuable female prisoner. And the queen may want to see Lady Sansa dead, but she's a woman herself and won't condone rape. You see – I'm going to die, but I swear I'm taking you with me into the abyss if you touch a single hair on the head of this woman. I'm no good at oaths, but I'll keep this is one, believe me.”

 

The jailer – a square-built, bald giant with a fat neck and a bulbous nose – stood there and glowered at them. Then, he scratched his crotch and spat into the small heap of old hay where Sansa had used to sleep since she had come here. Next, he tore at Ser Jaime's chain, which was fastened around the knight's neck since he had only one hand left.

The Kingslayer gargled, swayed, and nearly fell. Contented, the jailer dragged him out of the cell – not without casting a side glance at Sansa and uttering an annoyed rumble.

 

It was then that Sansa understood that Ser Jaime had cowed down the other man successfully. She got up and moved as close to the cell door as she could with her own fetters. She wanted to say something, in contrast to the previous departures of the other doomed people. Yet, she found no words that could have been adequate in such a situation.

 

In the end, she came up with: “I won't be long.”

Ser Jaime turned towards her one last time and offered her a crooked half-smile that caused him almost to look like his old self, if not for the sadness in his eyes.

“I know. See you soon then. On the other side. I only hope your father won't still be busy kicking me in my private parts – or whatever equivalent they've got in the afterlife.”

“Stop rambling, Kingslayer!” the jailer boomed, threw the cell door shut, and dragged his prisoner after him.

 

Once the last sounds of movement had died down, Sansa collapsed on the ground and curled up in a ball. She had thought she had no tears left, but now, spasmodic sobs rattled her body until she vomited. She had only gastric juices left in her stomach, so there wasn't much she could regurgitate, but this didn't stop her from retching on and on in between her wailing cries.

She only stopped when she was too exhausted and her body hurt so much that she couldn't go on anymore. Gladly, Sansa left herself to unconsciousness then.

 

The rusty door hinges woke her up a second time.

“ _Already?”_ Sansa thought. _“It used to take much longer between the passing of the others. Days.”_

Sansa had lost track of time, but of that she was still convinced.

“ _Does the queen want to get it all over with? Or is the dragon particularly hungry today? Or is the jailer coming back for me, despite Ser Jaime's threats?”_

 

“Now it's your turn, lil' missy lady,” the disgusting man informed her. “Have fun with them dragons.”

He uttered some dirty, braying laughter.

Sansa's guts knotted, and she couldn't feel any relief about the fact that the jailer seemingly didn't intend to rape her anymore.

“ _I hope Ser Jaime didn't suffer long. I hope I won't suffer long.”_

 

The queen's lowly henchman tugged at her chains and dragged her along with him, through corridors and up narrow, stony staircases. Sansa thought of how her father must have been led through the same tunnels to meet his end. Oh, how she hated King's Landing! How she had hoped to never come back when she had fled to the Vale!

Another hope that had turned out futile. How cruel could gods be?

Sansa thought of her former, naïve, religious self. Under different circumstances, she'd have felt resentment, but she was too petrified to feel much else.

 

To Sansa's surprise, the jailer handed her over to some guards when they left the dungeons and reached the upper cellar rooms. The men pointed to a washstand.

One of them, a fellow with jug ears and pock marks, said: “Clean yourself. Thoroughly. And put on those clothes.”

“ _The queen isn't keen on meeting a filthy beggar, by the look of it,”_ Sansa surmised and did as she had been told.

 

It was wonderful to wash off all the dirt, even though she had to do it in front of the lecherous-looking men. She had been stripped in front of others before, back in a distant past. This was nothing new. Only this time, she wasn't covered with a coat in the end. The new “clothes” were nothing but a simple penitential robe, made of a brown and scratchy fabric.

 

Then came the worst part: the men forced Sansa to sit down onto a stool. Next, they sheared off her hair until she was bald. They even trimmed her pubic hair until nothing was left.

Sansa's core turned into a block of ice.

The jug-eared guard looked her up and down and handed her a simple headscarf.

“Fine,” he said. “No vermin left.” He addressed a waiting servant: “Burn the matted locks. Now off to the queen.”

 

Some twenty minutes later, Sansa was lead into Daenaerys Targaryen's presence in the throne room. Sansa was a bit confused, because she had imagined she'd be taken to the dragon pit for the execution right away.

As it was, she simply looked at the other woman.

“ _How beautiful she is. How comfortable and regal on the Iron Throne,”_ Sansa couldn't help but think. Yet, she had also learned it the hard way since her first meeting with Cersei Lannister that beauty on the outside didn't necessarily correspond with the character.

 

Sansa knelt in silence and bowed her head.

“Lady Sansa Lannister,” the queen addressed her.

Sansa looked up again.

Daenaerys Targaryen continued: “I've been told confusing things.”

Sansa swallowed.

“Your Grace?”

 

The queen rose and clasped her hands on her back. She talked to Sansa in a dangerously mild voice.

“Rumour has it that you've never consummated your wedding with your late husband. Now, I hear you've got involved with the Kingslayer. Down in your cell.”

Sansa was too tired to even blush.

“What does it matter, Your Grace? We were both doomed.”

 

The queen cocked her head and gazed at Sansa in silence.

After a moment, she wanted to know: “Are you afraid of death, Lady Sansa?”

“No,” Sansa replied and decided to be candid. This woman wasn't sadistic Joffrey after all. “Why should I be? My family is awaiting me, and I'm so exhausted. I'm only afraid of pain.”

 

Daenaerys Targaryen continued to study her. One could see how she was pondering matters.

After what felt like minutes, the queen called for a goblet of wine. Once she was holding it in her hands, she fumbled on a ring she was wearing, opened it, and poured a substance into the liquid.

“An interesting present I've just received from Dorne,” the queen explained and held out the goblet.

 

Sansa stared at it, then gazed at Daenaerys Targaryen.

“No dragons?” she asked.

The other woman shook her head lightly.

“No pain.”

Sansa glowered at the goblet for another moment, then took it and drained it with a few gulps. The drink was strong Dornish red, unwatered, which she had never had a taste for. Sansa also noticed the flavour of sweetsleep. Before her time in the Vale, she wouldn't have known about it, but now, she did. All too well.

 

“You've got courage. A backbone. Character. Wouldn't have expected that, from what I'd heard. I'm impressed,” the queen said.

Sansa shrugged.

“This has got nothing to do with being brave, Your Grace. I just want peace.”

The contents of the goblet sloshed around in Sansa's empty stomach.

She asked: “May I have a last meal, Your Grace? Is there still enough time?”

 

Daenaerys Targaryen reacted like a host who had forgotten something important.

“Why, yes, of course!”

She snapped her fingers, and in no time, a servant appeared with a tray full of food. Sansa decided she was beyond being a fine lady and started to wolf down what was offered her in a manner Arya would have adored, had she still been alive. The last thing Sansa had on her plate was a lemon cake, of all things. That one she enjoyed like the ultimate treat it was.

 

No sooner had Sansa finished than started to feel weird. The world started to spin around her, and she felt heavier by the moment.

“Thank you, Your Grace – and now... I think it's time,” she managed to say, though her tongue felt as if it were covered in fur.

Next, her legs gave way under her, and she blacked out.

 

At some point, Sansa started to feel all fuzzy and warm, and she hummed in contentment.

“That good, my lady?” a voice she remembered purred into her ear.

She yawned, opened her eyes... and looked straight into Jaime Lannister's face. Sansa blinked heavily and realised she and the Kingslayer were lying in a bed together and were pressed flush against one another.

“Welcome back amongst the living,” Ser Jaime said with a sad smile and a biting tone in his voice. “Looks like the queen has got a worse punishment for us in store than death. In contrast to the other prisoners, we're supposed to live.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa didn't understand.

“But the wine... the poison... And you're alive, too?”

“Do I look like a wight?” Ser Jaime retorted. “And yes, the trick with the wine was nasty, wasn't it? A bit like your uncle's mock hangings during the war.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was just as surprised as you when I woke up a short while ago.”

 

Sansa blinked once more.

“The queen did the same to you?”

“You mean the washing? The shaving away of the vermin? This rough-spun mockery of a robe?” Ser Jaime asked back. “Yes.”

 

Now, Sansa realised the Kingslayer didn't have a bushy beard anymore, other than when he had been lead out of the cell. He had new lines in the face, and with his haggard features and his bald scalp he looked oddly similar to his dead father.

 

“My hair!” Sansa exclaimed and touched herself frantically where her long locks had been, but there was just the headscarf, which was still in place.

“It'll grow back,” Ser Jaime appeased her.

 

Sansa nodded hesitantly and fought back some tears.

Then, she asked: “But why are we in this bed? Together?”

The Kingslayer shrugged.

“Must have got something to do with the queen's knowledge of our tumble in the cell, I'd wager.”

Sansa blushed.

 

Meanwhile, Ser Jaime went on: “But I must say that this bed is divine. So warm and soft and cosy after the cold cell. Pure luxury. I'm at war with myself about whether to stay here, or whether to go to the basket with the food over there.”

He pointed with his chin.

 

Sansa turned around, looked at the room, which was small and plain, and noticed a chair, a table and a big basket that was placed on it. She wasn't particularly hungry after her extensive snack in the throne room, but she had been too starved for too long. So she rose although she was still wobbly on her legs, took the basket, and returned to the bed.

 

“Here!” she said and offered the Kingslayer a rich assortment of food.

A spark appeared in the man's green eyes, and he even smiled a little. Sansa liked that he was revived and not as weak and beaten down as he had been in the dungeons.

“Thanks!” Ser Jaime said, grabbed a piece of meat pie and tore with his teeth into it.

Sansa chose an apple.

 

While munching, the one-handed knight commented: “Now that's something. Eating delicious food in bed, no shift looming ahead, and a beautiful woman keeping me company. I'm so not used to such – “

He broke off, his face fell, and Sansa could tell he had been reminded of his dead sister. Sansa thought of Arya, and the apple tasted like ash in her mouth.

“I'm not used to it,” Ser Jaime finished after a moment.

 

Sansa looked into the basket again, this time with less enthusiasm. Her eyebrows rose.

“Oh! Look, there are two letters in it. One is for you and one is... how weird... for us together.”

The Kingslayer knitted his brows.

“You may open and read them both. From what I've heard, you're better at reading and writing than I've ever been.”

 

These words caused Sansa to blush.

“You'd allow me to read your private correspondence?”

Ser Jaime shrugged and answered in a bitter voice: “How private could it possibly be, what with my family dead and gone?”

 

Sansa hesitated for a moment. Then, she opened the first letter and started to decipher strong, male handwriting she didn't recognise. But after a moment, she understood who had written the lines. She smiled.

“Good news for you, I guess. The letter is from your friend Lord Marbrand, and it can't be old, given the date. Wait, we've been so long in the dungeons?”

 

At once, the Kingslayer sat up with big eyes.

“Addam? He's alive? Now that's indeed the first good news for ages.”

Sansa furrowed her brow.

“He writes he can't wait to see you again and that he's here in the capital, too, and... wait – he's married an Essosi woman, and he'd like to travel to the Westerlands with you.”

 

The Kingslayer looked at Sansa in confusion.

“Addam? Married? And what makes him think I'd be allowed to leave King's Landing? I mean – I'm not dead, granted, but surely, the queen has got more punishments for me in store. After all, I've killed her father, King Aerys. Why would she kill off the rests of my family and spare me, of all people?”

 

Sansa had no answers to these questions.

Instead, she asked back: “Shall I go on with the second letter?”

“Sure. Look, there's a royal seal. This is more serious stuff.”

That was likely true, so Sansa's heartbeat accelerated. She unfolded the paper with utmost care. Next, she read the text that had been penned down. Soon, the letters started to swim in front of her eyes, so she had to read everything anew. She began to tremble. Her brain refused to accept what she was reading.

 

“What is it?” Ser Jaime asked in alarm.

“I... well..,” Sansa stammered. Then, she breathed in and went on: “Lord Marbrand has been appointed 'Warden of the West'.”

“Oh!” the Kingslayer exclaimed. “Now that's a surprise, but a good one. There may be wisdom inside that dragon woman yet. Addam is suited for that task if anyone ever was. He's both decent and capable. I keep feeling my father would have preferred Addam as his son, you know.”

 

“Oh my,” Sansa breathed. Then, she continued her account. “Now this is something nobody could have expected. You're really supposed to live. You've officially been released from the King's Guard and have been appointed Lord of Lannister. Moreover, you're banned and supposed to live at Casterly Rock.”

 

“WHAT!?” Ser Jaime yelled. “This is all a bad jape! Give me that letter, Lady Sansa!”

The Kingslayer grabbed the parchment and fought himself through the message. The moment his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged Sansa knew he had come to the crucial part she had already read, but not mentioned to him yet.

He breathed: “What does that mean – we've been declared husband and wife?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“I can understand it as little as you do,” Sansa said. “But... the way I read it we must be married. Sort of. By the queen's own decree. I see no other way to read this letter.”

 

The Kingslayer shook his head like mad.

“No, no, no, that's not possible. We're not dolls the Targaryen woman can press together and tell us to kiss. This is not how things work.”

“Kissing isn't mentioned anywhere,” Sansa retorted. “And to me, this doesn't feel much different from my wedding with Tyrion. Or even from my engagement with Joffrey. Someone told me that _this_ was the man I should marry and that was it. I was never asked to come up with suggestions of my own. Only this time it looks as if I don't have to participate in any false ceremonies in a sept and probably lethal festivities afterwards.”

 

Sansa panted and was surprised of the metallic ring in her voice. She had never spoken like that before, and she didn't like the way she sounded.

Ser Jaime gazed at her and said nothing, which was better than any flimsy excuse or a sarcastic comment. After a long moment, he inclined his head.

He said: “What's over is over. For now, I want to know what's going on _here_. I want to know what this dragon woman has got in store. Honestly – me the Lord of Casterly Rock. And a wife. Sounds as if the queen has got a very clear-cut idea of how she could torture me. My humourless father would be revolving in his grave with laughter if only he knew of this.”

He punched the blanket with his good fist.

 

Sansa sighed. Her head still swam from the drug she had consumed and wasn't as focused as Ser Jaime.

“ _My husband.”_

Really, it all had to be a bad jape, not unlike the mock execution.

 

She asked: “What do you think? Are we allowed to use a privy? I'm tired of stinking pots in a corner.”

Ser Jaime looked at her.

“You weren't so practical before the war, but damn, that's a good idea. Let's find out. _Wife._ ”

 

Sansa pressed her lips together and got up from the bed. She placed the letters on the table. The Kingslayer followed her, and she blushed when she saw him wear a similar ridiculous penitential robe like herself. Together, they probed the door and found it unlocked – however, there were two guards in front of it.

Some of Jaime's old arrogant audacity flared up when he addressed the two men: “And a very good day to you, gentlemen. Thanks a lot for the delicious food. Do you think we could also get some arbor gold? Preferably without drugs this time? And how about some decent clothes? Maybe the Essosi have changed our local fashion style by now, but even so I cannot imagine that _this_ here...,” he pointed, “... is in vogue. And talking about all these basic needs – can we use the nearest privy, and where would it be?”

 

On hearing Ser Jaime speak thus, Sansa flushed scarlet. To her enormous relief, the guards didn't look considerably more comfortable.

One of them, an elderly man with a bushy beard, said after exchanging a look with his colleague: “I'll tell a servant to get some drink, a tunic, breeches and a dress, my lord. When I'm back you may use the privy one by one. We'll show you the way. One of us has to accompany you and the other one has to guard the room.”

 

The Kingslayer showed the man a dazzling if haughty smile Sansa would have never expected to see again.

“I'm very much obliged,” Ser Jaime said and closed the door again.

No sooner were they alone than he screwed up his eyes. Sansa was tempted to smile at seeing him rediscover his old self. At the same time, she was worried of him turning into an utter Lannister bastard again.

“ _Down in the cell it didn't matter it was him who claimed my maidenhood, because it wasn't supposed to have any consequences. But now, things are different.”_

 

Speaking of maidenhood – Sansa realised she was a bit sore on the inside, though not much.

“ _It'll heal. And next time, there won't be any more pain. Or at least the worst will be over.”_

Sansa blushed. Next time...? Well, given their new joint status it was possible they'd experience more intimacies at some point. It was even likely. Oh sweet Mother!

 

“What are you thinking of, my lady? Our activities back in the cell?” Ser Jaime taunted.

Sansa coughed, and her cheeks felt like a furnace. Yet, she also sensed a measure of defiance and was even glad about it, because it indicated the return of her energies.

“Ideed. I AM remembering this situation. And inexperienced I may be, but I'm not sorry.”

 

The Kingslayer snorted.

“But I am.”

Sansa felt as if she'd been struck and looked to the ground.

Ser Jaime hurried to explain, turning serious again: “No! I mean I'm sorry it wasn't different. Better. More... agreeable. I told you anything else would be impossible, but still...”

He gestured with his good hand and moved his stump in an apologetic way.

 

Sansa changed the topic and pointed at the stump.

“You'll want a new metal hand, once you're at Casterly Rock, right?”

But Ser Jaime grimaced and replied: “Can't we continue to talk about a tumble that has gone down the drain? It's far more comfortable than that issue.”

Whoops.

A new wave of embarrassment washed over Sansa, and she was just about to answer when there was a knock on the door. So instead, she hastened to open it.

 

A servant entered with a casket of wine, a jug of milk, and clothes. When he was gone, the two of them darted to the table to find out what they had received.

There were a dress, a tunic, breeches, some smallclothes, and even shoes – just like they had been promised. Moderate items, but acceptable enough in public.

“This isn't Lannister standard, but I won't complain,” the Kingslayer commented and poured himself a drink.

“ _I wonder if it takes a Lannister to love a Lannister,”_ Sansa couldn't help but wonder. _“This arrogance is unbearable for anyone else.”_

Yet, she refrained from speaking aloud, because she didn't want to bring up late Cersei again.

 

They drank, changed their clothes, and saw to their primary needs. On her way to the privy, Sansa noticed several foreign-looking people.

“ _Essosi,”_ she thought. _“The queen's followers.”_

While she was walking in the corridors, she also reflected upon the fact that she was allegedly married to the Kingslayer now. She still couldn't believe it and couldn't make heads or tails of the whole affair.

 

When she returned to their interim domicile, she heard male voices from inside. So she opened the door and found Ser Jaime in lively conversation with another man. The two were of more or less the same age, and the visitor wore elegant clothes and had rusty-coloured hair.

“My lady!” Ser Jaime called out. “Let me introduce you to my old friend Lord Marbrand.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Sansa, please call me Addam,” the man in question said and took her hand for a kiss.

Sansa couldn't help but like him at once.

“Only if you call me Sansa,” she said with a smile.

 

“Hey!” Ser Jaime exclaimed, looking at her. “You haven't even called me by my name like that yet, although we have –“

He stopped short, and Sansa blushed.

 

Ser Addam cleared his throat.

“I take it things must have steamrolled the two of you, Jaime, so perhaps you shouldn't be more dogmatic than the High Sparrow and rather a bit more patient.”

 

The Kingslayer scratched his nose and looked to the side.

“Yes, sure. Now. You just wanted to tell me about that bride of yours. I must say I was flabbergasted when I learned the news, no less.”

 

Ser Addam's smile looked a bit forced then.

“My own reaction wasn't so far off from yours, I must admit. You see – while you were in prison, Queen Daenaeys came up with a wedding policy shortly after her coronation. She wants the Westerosi nobility and her Essosi followers to merge. So she listed up all possible candidates on both sides. I was among them. Next, she gave us a chance to pick a partner... and she matched those who remained undecided. Finally, there was a big gathering with a civil mass wedding. It occurred shortly after Tyrion's execution. Sorry to remind you of it, my friend. Now. The queen read out a list with all those she decreed to become spouses. Imagine my surprise when I didn't only hear my own name in combination with someone I'd never even talked to before, but when I also learned that you and Lady Sansa were destined to be married. You were the only exclusively Westerosi couple – and jailed up at that. To be precise, you've already been married for a month and two days now.”

 

Sansa and Jaime both stared at Ser Addam with their mouths hanging open.

Sansa thought: _“What!? We were married when I lost my maidenhood down in the dungeons?”_

The Kingslayer finally managed to say: “You're not serious!”

Ser Addam sighed.

“I fear I am.”

 

Ser Jaime blew up his cheeks.

“Now that's coming on strong.”

His friend nodded.

“Even after this time it's still difficult for me to grasp.”

“And your wife? Is she all right?”

 

Ser Addam blushed.

“To be honest... I don't really know. She barely speaks my language, and we haven't passed much time together. But the fact that I'm a lord in a mixed marriage seems to have been enough to make me Warden of the West. At least I don't know which other reason the queen could have had for her decision.”

“How about your competence?” the Kingslayer asked.

“Oh please!” Ser Addam retorted. “I'm not the only one out there who's not an utter oaf.”

 

Meanwhile, Sansa's thoughts wandered into a slightly different direction.

“Lord M... Addam,” she ventured forth.

“Yes?” Ser Jaime's friend asked with a smile.

So Sansa went on: “I'm still a bit confused about why the queen would let us live while killing off so many others, particularly from the Lannister family.”

 

Ser Addam's eyebrows rose.

“I can totally understand you, Sansa. It's a good question. You see – I think you've been lucky. You must know that Queen Daenaerys has also suspended some executions among the commoners. The big change came about mere hours after Tyrion's execution. She received news from the North. Catastrophic news. About undead creatures invading the Seven Kingdoms. So she must have decided that she had to change her priorities. That she maybe can't afford to lose too many more men.”

 

Jaime's face hardened.

“But the queen did have Cersei executed.”

Ser Addam nodded.

“She's been a usurper's wife and the mother of two more usurpers, at least that must have been the queen's point of view. And she must have learned of how Cersei has always meddled with power while you've never shown much interest in it. Your sister was thus deemed too dangerous. In contrast to you with your arm stump. And besides, the execution has been an effective measure to make you suffer as much as possible.”

 

Ser Jaime palmed his face with the one hand he'd left. Sansa sighed. And deep down she was frightened of what was going on in the North.

“ _Winter is coming,”_ she thought.

 

Then, Ser Addam turned towards her again, his face very serious.

“Sansa, there's something else you should know. Your half-brother Jon – he died at the Wall, but a priestess of the Red God managed to resurrect him. Now, he's not a Black Brother anymore, because his watch has ended. Instead, Queen Daenaerys has appointed him Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

“Jon!” Sansa gasped and pressed her hand in front of her mouth.

 

Ser Addam nodded compassionately.

“And now comes the greatest surprise. Your half-brother has turned out not to be your father's bastard. He's your aunt Lyanna's and Rhaegar Targaryen's bastard, and your father only covered up for your aunt. Jon Snow is actually half a Targaryen and thus related to the queen. And now have an educated guess why you have been pardoned alongside with Jaime.”

 

There was a long pause.

Finally, the Kingslayer muttered: “Fuck. One thing's clear now: we've been in prison for too long.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander the Great organised a mass wedding in Susa in antiquity - that's the inspiration behind Dany's policy.


	7. Chapter 7

Lord Marbrand excused himself and took his leave soon afterwards, but he promised he'd visit them again soon. And he'd also lend them some clothes for changing, and money.

“He's really a good friend,” Sansa said to Ser Jaime when the other man had left.

 

The Kingslayer nodded and let himself fall backwards onto the bed.

“He knows we need time now to digest all the news.”

 

Sansa moved over him and huddled down on the mattress at his side. She now briefly noticed how her husband wasn't smelly anymore, just like herself, but her mind drifted off to more important matters again. She was still overwhelmed by what she had learned.

 

“Have something more to eat and a sip of wine,” Ser Jaime suggested.

He had already grabbed the basket again and fished out another piece of meat pie. Sansa wasn't hungry or thirsty, but she accepted the offer nevertheless. Together, they sat on the bed and chewed on their food in silence. Sansa was at a loss and didn't have a clue what to make of it all. So her thoughts focused pragmatic aspects.

 

“I'm wondering about many things now,” she said at length.

Ser Jaime looked at her, waiting for her explanations.

“I don't know where to start,” Sansa admitted. “When are we expected to leave the capital? What is the situation like in Lannisport? Can I get into contact with Jon?”

“ _What could I possibly write an undead half-brother who even isn't my half-brother anymore?”_ Aloud, she continued: “Which people we know from the past are still alive? What about the wights? How bad is the situation? And something that concerns us here: do you think there are still items from your family in King's Landing you could claim back?”

 

The Kingslayer rubbed his temple, and a painful expression entered his eyes.

“Items? The money and the jewellery and all the golden or silver objects will be gone, do doubt about that. The horses? Forget about them. Too valuable. The only things we just might get back would be a book or two from my brother's literary hoard. Those have been expensive, too, but I don't expect people to have been interested in them.”

 

Sansa knew Ser Jaime was right, and she sighed.

Meanwhile her involuntary husband went on: “I'm sure you'll be able to get into contact with Jon Snow at some point.”

“You won't forbid it?” Sansa asked.

The Kingslayer looked at her, confused until he realised he was in a position now to block Sansa from her old contacts. He shook his head.

“No. I won't isolate you from the few scattered family members you still have got.”

 

Tears of relief entered Sansa's eyes.

“Thank you.”

Ser Jaime looked away and talked on.

“When the queen burned the Inn at the Crossroads, she was on her way to the North, I think. The last thing I learned before my capture was that the queen was burning various strategic points in the Riverlands at the time. Did you hear she turned the Twins into a second Harrenhal?”

 

Sansa nodded.

“Down in the dungeons, you talked about it to Lord Tarly before he was executed, and by the time I arrived in King's Landing after I had been seized, there were rumours that even reached the meshed wagon I was in.”

“I see,” Ser Jaime said. “I had already forgotten you still got to know Lord Tarly in the cell, and besides, you were in your own world after your sister's death.”

Sansa's heart throbbed in pain, and she simply nodded a second time. She knew things would continue to hurt a lot for a long, long time.

 

Ser Jaime had to fight his own demons, of course.

He said: “Tyrion tried to comfort you as best he could, despite everything. I wish he had been willing to talk to me as well, and to make peace with me.”

Sansa looked at the man beside her.

“Now that you're mentioning it – what happened? You were close when I got to know the two of you in Winterfell.”

 

The kingslayer's jaws worked.

After a long moment, he said: “He found out I had lied to him about something he deemed extremely important.”

Sansa blinked.

“Why did you do that?”

Ser Jaime snorted.

“Why not? I'm an oathbreaker. I'm a sister-fucker. The worst things have to be expected from me.”

Sansa felt daunted for no more than a second.

In a soft voice, she asked back: “Then why risk one of the few close bonds you had?”

 

A muscle started to twitch in Ser Jaime's face.

Finally, he spat: “My father's explicit order. And what was more: at the time, Tyrion was already hurt enough. I thought the truth about what had occurred would pain him even more. Shatter him, even.”

 

Sansa looked at the man who was her husband now. After some heartbeats, she took his good hand for a moment and pressed it gently.

Ser Jaime blinked, and his eyebrows rose.

“What's over is over,” Sansa said. “The good question is: what do _we_ do with each other now?”

“Well – we're enemies by definition,” Ser Jaime said, but his voice lacked determination.

“Enemies like your sister and King Robert?” Sansa asked.

 

There was a pause.

“Gods! Better not, my lady, better not,” Ser Jaime finally murmured.

 


	8. Chapter 8

They lay side by side for a while, leaving each other to one's own musings. At some point, Sansa realised she needed some consolation, some friendly words and warm touches... but the only other human at her disposal was not the right one for the task. She looked at Ser Jaime, who had closed his eyes.

“ _I don't like him. I can't trust him. And I've already asked more of him than he was ready to give.”_

 

“What is it?” the Kingslayer asked suddenly and opened an eye. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have a pie crumb somewhere?”

Sansa blushed, and her heart made some quick hops.

“Erm. Yes, indeed. Wait! I'm wiping it away.”  
She quickly rubbed the man's chin as if to remove a crumb.

“There!” she said and nodded to herself. “That's better.”

 

Ser Jaime arched an eyebrow in response.

“ _He knows this was just pretence!”_ Sansa thought and chirped: “Your face is really smooth now after having been shaved.”

The Kingslayer opened his second eye, and slowly, an impish smile crept onto his lips.

“Not only my face is smooth now, you know? They've shaved me everywhere. Under the arms. My chest. The hair around my cock.”

 

Sansa's cheeks started to burn, and her heart pounded. She looked away.

And Ser Jaime wasn't done yet.

“They've done the same to you, haven't they? They've trimmed your fiery locks everywhere, right? Ah, and I tell you, it's such _fun_ when the hair grows back and it's all spiky. One wants to scratch oneself all the time.”

“ _Gods! He wants me to feel embarrassed!”_ Sansa thought and stammered: “I... well... but we needed to get rid of the vermin. It was necessary.”

 

The Kingslayer smirked.

“Sure, but a grown man feels so ridiculous without a proper pelt on his chest. See?”

He snatched her hand and guided it under the tunic. Sansa uttered a squeak when she felt warm, smooth skin under her fingers, and her heart seemed ready to hop out of the ribcage.

Their eyes met, and something changed between them. Ser Jaime's eyes lost their malicious sheen and became darker. Sansa licked her lips nervously.

 

The next moment, somebody hammered onto their door, and the tension between them evaporated. Sansa pulled her arm back.

“If you dare touch Sansa I'll castrate you, Kingslayer!” a male voice roared.

“Gods, what – ?” Sansa peeped.

Ser Jaime's face hardened – as if he recognised the man behind the voice and didn't like him one bit.

 

He got up and wrenched the door open.

He spat: “Trout! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Rock?”

A stocky, red-haired man in the door frame retaliated: “I'm not your hostage anymore, bastard. I've been re-established as Lord of Riverrun.”

 

Sansa's eyes widened.

“Uncle Edmure?” she breathed.

The red-haired man looked at her, and his features softened.

“Sansa, my girl, come to me!”

He held out his arms.

 

Sansa sobbed and threw herself against her uncle. Edmure Tully caught her in a tight embrace, and she cried and cried.

“Sansa, oh Sansa!” he rumbled. “You look like Cat, do you know that? Like your mother! When I heard the queen had imprisoned you in the Red Keep, I had to come here to speak in favour of you, and to prevent the worst.” The man's voice darkened. “I've been too late, by the look of it. Now you're bound to such a horrible man.”

“Please, don't call him that,” Sansa mumbled against her uncle's chest, still sniffling.

“Ah, but I know him from two past occasions,” Edmure Tully answered, “and the classification is well-earned.”

“Always a delight to meet you, trout,” Ser Jaime commented in a dark voice.

 

That caused Sansa to look up at the Lord of Riverrun.

“Uncle Edmure, please, let it rest. It won't help me if you insult him. It won't do anyone good if you insult each other.”

 

Before he could say anything, Ser Jaime cut in.

“I'm off to the privy and I'll enjoy a long shit. Better for all the people involved.”

And with those words, he strode off, one of the two guards in his wake.

 

“Oh, my poor niece!” Edmure Tully growled. “Please know that you'll always be invited and that you'll always have a place in Riverrun.”

“Thank you so much!” Sansa answered, and her uncle hugged her close again.

Ah, this felt so good! It was the consolation Sansa had so sorely needed, the warmth, the friendliness... a person who was on her side.

 

“There's something you should know, Sansa,” Lord Edmure said.

She looked up.

He went on: “You see – I was Ser Jaime's hostage at Casterly Rock after Ser Jaime had forced me to surrender Riverrun during the war.”

Sansa nodded. Petyr Baelish had once told her about it during their time in the Vale.

“Now,” Lord Tully continued. “There's a reason why I'm not a hostage anymore. It all came to an end when this false Targaryen, who named himself Aegon VI., attacked and invaded the Rock.”

 

Sansa's eyes widened.

“He did _what_!?”

She had heard of a young man who had claimed to be a Targaryen before she had been jailed up, and had also heard of some military successes, but the fall of Casterly Rock was new to her.

 

Lord Edmure nodded.

“He sacked Lannisport and later the fortress. My family and I nearly died, but once we had survived, I wasn't too sad about it. Better this Targaryen aspirant than a Lannister, I thought at the time. So I kept my feet still and at the background of the scenes. But this Aegon was developing into the wrong direction, I could see that within days. Why do all Targaryens have this innate tendency for madness? Be that as it may. Shortly afterwards, Queen Daenaerys appeared with her dragons to fight the other aspirant for the throne. At first, she tried diplomacy and even offered her hand, in the style of Aegon I and his two sister wives. But his namesake found it prudent to catapult the messenger's head out of the castle and in front of the queen's feet. Daenaerys attacked then. I feared for my wife and my child because of the dragons, so I killed this Aegon, and the castle surrendered at once. Queen Daenaerys showed her gratefulness then by re-establishing me as the Lord of Riverrun and the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

 

All the while, Sansa had listened with bated breath. She could understand her uncle's motives, but at the same time, she felt his behaviour wasn't so very different from what Jaime had done to Aerys II.

“ _Ah, but I'm being stupid,”_ Sansa thought. _“Uncle Edmure is a good man and family besides, and he's been through so much.”_

 

“Thanks for telling me,” she said. “I guess when we arrive at the Rock we'll have to carry out many reparations – and Winter is Coming.”

“Winter is already there,” Lord Tully answered. “And what a long, harsh winter it'll become for all of us, what with the losses because of the wars and the undead menace looming ahead.”

 

“The wights are what frightens me most,” Sansa emphasised. “We, the living, need to stick together now. Even the queen has understood this and has refrained from further revenge. It's also what I'll tell my... husband.”

She looked up at her uncle in a meaningful way, telling him thus he should show solidarity with them all, too – instead of nurturing his enmity with the Kingslayer.

 

Lord Edmure sighed and patted her shoulder.

“You're a good girl, Sansa; your mother has always been right about this in her letters. But you're also wise beyond your age. The gods know we'd need more balancing characters in the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

When her uncle had left – not without assuring her that he'd keep a sharp eye on the Kingslayer – Sansa waited for Ser Jaime to return. He came back about half an hour later, and his face was unnaturally pale.

“ _He's heard of the sack of Casterly Rock, too,”_ Sansa knew at once.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“I'm sorry for those people who have suffered,” she chirped.

The Kingslayer rebuffed her: “I don't want to talk. There's still the wine casket over there. I intend to get dead drunk now and don't want to be disturbed. If you want to help me, keep the chamberpot in reach once I start to puke.”

 

“ _Oh my,”_ Sansa thought and remembered those moments in the past when the Hound had been so utterly drunk he'd been even rougher than usual. But the difference was now that Ser Jaime was her husband and could manhandle her however he wished in his state of drunkenness. That was something she was truly afraid of. But what could she do?

“ _I've got an idea.”_

 

“If you want to get inebriated, I want to get inebriated, too,” Sansa said. “We have to share a room after all, and I don't want to see you in such a state while I'm sober.”

Ser Jaime glowered at her.

Then, he spat: “All right. Fair enough.”

He walked over to the door, opened it and said to the closest guard: “We need more booze. Life is too shitty to endure it sober.”

 

Sansa had hoped the Kingslayer would abstain from his wish to get drunk if it meant she'd consume alcohol as well. She had not anticipated that her plan could backfire in such a way.

But Ser Jaime poured her a tankard and held it in front of her.

“Down with it,” he said.

 

For an instant, Sansa wanted to say something to weasel herself out of the complicated situation she had got trapped in – but a note in her husband's voice deterred her from doing so. Something told her that Jaime Lannister's grief was close to turning into white-hot wrath. If Sansa had learned anything over the last years, it was to avoid a superior's wrath. So she took the goblet and gulped the content down at top speed.

 

A knock on the door indicated more alcohol had been brought. A servant entered with a flagon of strongwine, put it on the table and left again.

“Good. Very good,” Ser Jaime said, his face grim and determined.

He poured them more drinks. Sansa could already feel the effects of the first one as she wasn't used to anything so strong, and even less so after her time in jail. Still, she took everything the Kingslayer offered her.

 

At first, she felt a bit better. More relaxed. But soon enough, her body revolted. In the end, she was already vomiting while Ser Jaime was barely tipsy yet. That earned her some slightly slurred reproaches, but she couldn't care anymore as she was too distracted by her sickness.

Her husband held her head and wiped her face clean in between vomiting bouts.

“Shank you.” And: “I'm sho shorry.” That was what she managed to utter, but that was about it.

 

When she calmed down, she was surprised, because the Kingslayer gently placed her onto the bed, lay down next to her and even held her close.

“I'm the one who should be flogged for his stupidity, “ he said. “I should have never pulled off this drinking thing with you.”

 

Sansa felt still queasy, but also heavy and tired. She was not in the mood for such sort of criticism and pressed her face against Ser Jaime's chest. Hmmm...

With his good hand, he massaged her behind the ear, like he'd have done it with a cat – and Sansa's reaction was the same: she started to purr.

She heard a smile in her husband's voice above her when he said: “Now that's better, isn't it?”

“Hmhm,” Sansa agreed in a murmur. “Mmmh, you shmell good, Shaime.”

Then, she dozed off.

 

The next morning, Sansa woke up suffering from the mother of all hangovers. Ser Jaime was still there, at her side, and suggested she eat some salted fish to regain her strength. The very thought of food nearly caused Sansa to retch.

Instead, she growled, pressed herself against her husband's warm body, and pulled the blanket over her head. For a while, the Kingslayer indulged her, but then, he became restless.

 

“Sansa, I've got a morning boner and need to go to the privy,” he said.

“Hnf?” Sansa answered, for it was the most eloquent reply she could come up with.

“My cock is hard and my bladder is full, _wife_. I need to get up,” Ser Jaime spoke in a harsher tone.

 

That explanation finally sank in. Sansa tensed, blushed, and rolled away so he could get up. She didn't need to ask him twice to do so.

She just begged: “Please let me sleep some more.”

“As you wish,” Ser Jaime said.

 

When he came back, Sansa heard him enter. She opened an eye and saw him wave a letter.

“We've got some new orders from the queen,” he announced.

“Gnaaah,” Sansa commented and thought somebody had tried to bash in her head.

“Your enthusiasm is most remarkable,” Ser Jaime teased her and slowly read the letter.

 

After a while, he said: “Aha. So that's that. We've got a week here. Then, we have to leave for Casterly Rock. The queen is pointing out that Addam has got enough men to accompany us so that we don't need an extra unit of guards. I say. How very generous, hm?”

“Mmmmm,” Sansa growled non-committally.

 

Ser Jaime chuckled.

“Gods! You've really been knocked out, haven't you? In your state I could kiss you and you'd be too weak to put up a struggle.”

 

Sansa wasn't in the mood for his jape and simply covered her head with her blanket even more. That caused the Kingslayer to sigh.

“I'm sure Addam will arrive soon to plan our trip to the Rock together. I guess I better wait for him in front of the chamber door. He doesn't need to see you in this state.”

“Hmhm,” Sansa simply agreed.

 

She heard the door open and close and felt she hadn't been a very good wife so far. With those thoughts in mind, she dozed off again.

 


	10. Chapter 10

After this elongated nap, Sansa felt a bit better and could thank Ser Jaime when he came back with clothes Ser Addam had organised for them. She also listened to what her husband had to tell her and was glad he was so talkative.

 

“We've discussed the trip to Casterly Rock. Where to stop, how to get provisions and such. Addam is organising tents and a handful of carts with oxen for us and his men. I can tell you – it won't be an enjoyable spree in winter. Anyway. Addam has also found a gentle mare he can lend you for the time being. I remembered you're not much of a rider from our way here years ago, and I didn't know if this has changed since you left for the Vale.”

 

Sansa's eyes lit up. She smiled.

“Thank you, S... Jaime. That's considerate of you.”

On impulse, her husband smiled back. Then, they noticed they were smiling at each other, blushed, and looked away.

 

Ser Jaime went on: “What else? Oh yes! I've find out we're allowed to move about almost freely in this part of the Red Keep – just with those guards on our heels you've already got to know. The wing is small, but there's a tiny walled-in garden. I went there with Addam. It's as cold as a rat's arse, now that winter has come, forgive my wording – but oh! The sunshine and the fresh air after weeks and weeks in prison! You have to come along, too!”

 

Sansa's heart beat faster. She could only agree with the Kingslayer. Fresh air! A kingdom for sunshine and fresh air!

Thanks to the new, warm clothes they could leave for the little garden, and the cut of the fabric was simple so Sansa didn't need any help to dress within minutes.

 

When she saw the snow in the yard, her heart started to bloom. For a moment, it was as if she were back in Winterfell.

Without thinking about it, she scooped up some snow from a barren bush, hurled it at the Kingslayer next to her, and laughed out loud.

 

Ser Jaime uttered a cry and stared at her with wide eyes.

Sansa's merriment died down at once. Had she done something wrong? Was he angry now?

 

But then, a grin spread on the Kingslayer's face.

“Aaaah,” he growled. “So that's your plan. Barely married, and already undermining my authority, is that the way of it? Just you wait!”

With those words, he scooped up some snow himself with his left hand and threw it at her.

 

Sansa squealed and laughed. In no time, there was a wild snowball fight going on. And if Sansa had learned anything in her childhood at Winterfell with her unruly siblings milling about, it was how to defend herself with snowballs.

“You don't stand a chance against a Northerner!” she crowed.

“Pah! I'm a seasoned soldier! Surrender!” Ser Jaime called back.

When had Sansa last had such fun?

 

One of the snowballs went astray and exploded in one of the guards' faces. The guard gargled and sputtered.

Jaime looked at the man with one of his impish grins.

“They're on duty, Sansa. They can't fight back. At them with joined forces!”

 

But Sansa took his hand.

“No, please, you can't –“

Whapp! And she landed with her back in a snow bank with a maliciously grinning Kingslayer on top of her.

“Har! Got you! I told you you wouldn't have a chance against my tactics!”

Sansa squealed and wiggled under him, and Ser Jaime laughed.

 

“ _How can I wipe that stupid grin off his face?”_ Sansa thought feverishly.

Then, she remembered how Theon had been able to fend off wild little Arya in the past by pressing a kiss onto her mouth; that had always used to send her sister away making disgusted sounds.

So Sansa did the same: she lifted her head and kissed the Kingslayer. He stiffened. A shocked silence ensued. Sansa flushed scarlet when she realised what she was doing.

 

“I must admit,” Ser Jaime said slowly, “you really know how to come out on top in a snowball fight. I bow to your superiority.”

And with those words, he stood up, all serious, brushed off the snow on his clothes and went inside. The jug ears of the guard who was accompanying him were red. Hopefully just from the cold. Even so, it looked like a flight.

Thankfully, Sansa's own guard didn't make a comment. Sansa didn't know what to say and to think. She felt miserable. To make things worse, she also remembered now that her siblings, who had played with her in the snow in the past, were all dead now.

 

With a tear running down her cheek Sansa asked herself what to do next. She didn't want to be in the same room like the Kingslayer for a while.

In the end, she found a wooden bench in a corridor of their wing and sat down on it. She tried to watch the passing servants, but there weren't many. This seemed to be a rather calm part of the Red Keep, far away from the queen – which was good.

 

Sansa's thoughts meandered back to her husband. She had kissed Ser Jaime! Sure, it had only been a joke, but still. The memory of the touch and taste of his lips, brief as it had been, lingered in her mind. Sansa couldn't help recollect the way he smelled now. And from there, it was only one step to what they had done down in the dungeons. The memories from the way the Kingslayer felt _down there_ were still fresh.

 

Sansa pressed her lips together and tried to will herself to feel disgust – but she failed. Instead, her core was suddenly aquiver in the weirdest possible way. Moreover, it wasn't sore any longer. Sansa berated herself, because hers was certainly not a ladylike reaction.

The problem was that she had spent too much time in Myranda Royce's presence and had listened to her friend's salacious talk. Myranda had told her in epic words how much fun a woman could have, how she could get it... and how strong a woman's need could be, opposite to what the septas had taught Sansa.

Therefore, she couldn't avoid the realisation that what she was feeling was desire. She wanted Ser Jaime to be where he had been before. And she wanted more of it.

 

“ _Gods no!”_ she thought. _“This is all wrong! Not him!”_

Sansa was desperate.

“ _He may be my husband now, but his feelings belong to another person, even if she's dead now. Maybe, he can come up with enough energy to bed me again,but what if that isn't enough for me?”_

Sansa knew herself all too well – she was a romantic, and she feared that shared lust might lead her elsewhere, emotionally speaking... while it wouldn't have the same effect on Ser Jaime.

“ _And I don't want to feel anything for him. I DON'T! And I don't want to get hurt. Not again,”_ Sansa thought. _“Better try to refrain from such activities right away. I'll have to keep my distance.”_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical awkwardness ahead. If you can't stand descriptions of operations or body juices this may not be for you.

Finally, the last remaining effects of the wine they had consumed wore off some more. With a sigh and a look at her guard, Sansa returned to her room. On her way, she felt the need to scratch herself in unspeakable places and felt uncomfortable there, but she fought the urge as best she could.

 

When she opened the door, she found Ser Jaime lying on his belly and with an open book in front of him. It was a position that allowed him to hold the volume down and to turn the pages with one hand.

When he heard her, he looked up and showed her a little smile, though his eyes were sad.

“Look!” he said. “This is one of Tyrion's books. It's turned out that Queen Daenaerys wants to keep most of them, because they've got something to do with dragons; but she's been willing to give me back some volumes.”

 

Sansa rushed to her husband's side.

“Oh! Are you content with this result?”

“Mh – I guess I have to be. Better than nothing.”

“And which books have you got back?”

 

Ser Jaime held up the volume he had been perusing.

“This one's about hunting. Guess why I had a look at it first.”

He pointed at a pile of books on the table.

“There's something about fishing, something about the construction of boats, and something about history, too. That's a very old tome, and they also say something about the North, so I'm sure you'll be interested.”

 

Sansa nodded avidly.

“That sounds good. But we have to be careful when we transport it to Casterly Rock.”

Jaime's grin deepened, though his eyes remained sad.

“It's not the first time I'm transporting my brother's books, you know. He took them everywhere we went. I hope there are some more left at the Rock.”

Sansa pressed his shoulder gently.

 

“Ah, but you should look at the rest of the books,” Ser Jaime continued. “'A Tale of Two Harlots', 'Tavern Songs from Oldtown', 'Dornish Poisons' and 'Popular Dishes from the Westerlands'.”

Sansa blinked.

“I didn't know Tyrion to be a chef.”

The Kingslayer laughed out loud.

“Certainly not! But he was a gourmet, so I'm not surprised he owned this recipe book.”

Sansa couldn't help but smile. She had never loved Tyrion, but he had not been the worst Lannister.

 

“What's your favourite dish?” Sansa asked her new husband.

Ser Jaime shrugged.

“I'm not complicated. I'm a soldier. As long as it's hearty and nourishing, I'm content. Like that meat pie. When it comes to refined tastes, I do appreciate some good cheese cubes with my Arbor gold.”

 

Sansa nodded along.

“I love lemon cakes,” she said.

The Kingslayer grinned.

“I'm not surprised you've got a sweet tooth.” He turned serious again. “Sadly, there won't be any lemons in the near future – and for a long time, what with the upcoming winter.”

“I know,” Sansa sighed.

 

Then she couldn't help herself and wiggled a little.

“What is it?” Ser Jaime asked.

Sansa blushed.

“Nothing.”

Her husband poked her nose tip with his index finger.

“Don't lie at me.”

 

Sansa's cheeks became even rosier.

“Really, it's not important. It's just that you've been right about certain things.”

Ser Jaime arched an eyebrow.

“How good to know I've got _some_ intelligence, but what exactly are you referring to?”

Sansa looked to the side and murmured: “The scratchy growing stubble.”

 

The Kingslayer smirked from ear to ear then.

“Oh that. Yes – and I'm feeling the same, I can tell you. Shaved my face while you were gone. Or rather had it shaved, because the guards wouldn't allow me to hold a knife. Couldn't have done it properly with one hand anyway.”

Sansa couldn't stop herself from wiggling again.

“I... I can imagine that. It's just... you know... gods... there's a spot down there where it hurts.”

 

Ser Jaime furrowed his brow.

“You might have a little inflammation at the root of a hair. Nasty in that area, and not as harmless as one might think. I've known a soldier during a field campaign who developed an abscess that poisoned his blood, because he went to the maester too late. Misguided pride. He died. We should better have a look at this.”

 

“You want to look at me... _down there_? Naked?”

Ser Jaime screwed up his eyes and huffed: “First of all: I do know what a cunt looks like, so it's not as if you're unravelling a big mystery for me. And second: I'll be focusing on a furuncle of some sort, and that's not exactly enticing.”

 

Sansa swallowed hard and debated matters with herself, but then, she nodded, tried to imagine he was a maester and slowly put off her smallclothes. Next, she sat down on the bed and pulled up her skirt. Her cheeks were on fire, and she didn't dare look at the man in front of her.

Was she wrong, or was he breathing a little faster?

 

“Ouch,” he murmured. “No wonder you're restless. I'd have already lost my wits with such a thing in such a place. But we're still early enough. We won't need a maester, or an operation. I can open this myself. We just need a candle and a needle, a clean piece of cloth and some salve for healing.”

Sansa felt queasy, but then, she wondered whether Maester Pycelle was still in charge in the Red Keep, so she answered: “Yes. Please. Go ahead.”

 

Her husband stood up and discussed matters with the guards in front of the door. Sansa felt ashamed that such intimate things had to be talked about – but in the end, the guards relented and allowed a candle and a needle in their quarters, as well as the other necessary items.

 

Sansa's heart pounded like mad when Ser Jaime held the needle into the flame. The Kingslayer was tense, too.

“Fuck, if only I had two hands, it would be easier for me. But I promise I'll do my best to be gentle. The pus needs to come out.”

Sansa closed her eyes and nodded weakly.

Her husband placed his stump across her belly, be it to keep her in place or to bring himself into the right position.

 

Sansa felt the sting of the hot needle and screamed.

“The worst is already over,” Ser Jaime appeased her quickly. “It's open. Now, the pus has to get out. It's already starting to ooze, which is perfect. You can do the rest with your own fingers.”

Sansa's eyes went wide. She should touch herself?

“Or shall I do it, my lady?”

“I... I don't know,” Sansa peeped.

 

Ser Jaime sighed. A moment later, she squealed again when he touched her to carry out what was necessary. Afterwards, he cleaned her with the cloth and applied some salve. Sansa was already feeling better, now that the pressure had lessened under the skin where the wound was.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

 

She looked at her husband, and he grinned up at her.

“You've got a sweet little cunt, do you know that?” he commented. “Tell me what was worse down there: the needle or my cock?”

Sansa coughed in shock and pulled down her skirts.

“You're insufferable, my lord!” she called out.

The Kingslayer slapped his thigh in entertainment and laughed.

“Guilty of charge, my dear, guilty of charge.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa turned away from her husband and pulled the blanket over her head, like she had done after her stupor. Ser Jaime chuckled some more, then handed everything back they had needed for her treatment, and returned to Tyrion's book. Sansa kept her mouth shut and sulked because of the Kingslayer's last lewd comment.

 

When the sun sank, they had no light in their room left without the candle. Thankfully, a servant brought one in together with another food basket.

 

Ser Jaime went over to the table to regale himself with the delicacies at once.

“Oooh!” he made. “Goat's cheese. A big smoked boar sausage. Parsley-and-onion rolls. White beans in a brown sauce. Honey tartlets. Mead and mint water. My mouth is watering.”

 

Slowly, Sansa sat up, her stomach telling her that the food on offer was indeed worth a try. She sauntered over to the table.

Ser Jaime was already chewing and poured her a drink. Sansa wanted to drink it, but stopped short.

 

“No mint water, thanks.”

The Kingslayer blinked.

“You don't like it? All right, I'll take it. I just thought you wouldn't want any mead so soon after you've been befuddled.”

 

Sansa forced a smile onto her lips, but didn't answer. Mint reminded her of Petyr Baelish.

“ _He's smelled differently at the end,”_ she told herself.

 

Ser Jaime looked at her, and she could tell he wanted to ask her some more, but he remained silent. So Sansa helped herself to no less than three portions – until she had tried everything.

 

While they were eating, her husband started to smile at her. He looked genuinely amused.

“What's so funny?” Sansa asked and wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

“Oh, it's just so good to watch you enjoying the food. You're a real Stark, given how you're _wolfing_ things down.”

 

Sansa blushed.

“I wasn't like that before our imprisonment. It's not ladylike behaviour.”

Ser Jaime's smile vanished.

“I think I remember.” He sighed. “I must thank you, Sansa.”

 

Now that was a surprise.

“What for?” Sansa asked.

The Kingslayer answered: “When they led Cersei away to her execution, I thought I could never feel again. Or laugh again. And now look at me. Here I am, enjoying myself and laughing and grinning and having fun. How did you do that?”

 

Sansa licked her lips and looked down.

“Perhaps it's not really me, but your... your... survival instinct.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Or it's a mixture,” Ser Jaime replied. “The point is that I want to live again. That's what I've realised over the last hours. And I've pondered many other things. I never wanted to inherit Casterly Rock or the lordship. I'd still prefer it to be different, but since I can't choose, I want to be a good lord. But that's impossible alone. Especially with my handicap.”

He held up his stump.

“The truth is: I'll need your help, Sansa. We've been joined in marriage by force, and we both know it, we're even opponents... but I'd like to turn this into an acceptable arrangement if I can. No oaths, no promises. I'm not good at that. But I'll try. And I think you'd be an inspiration for the people in the West. And an inspiration is what the people need after all this warfare and in the face of so many great problems ahead.”

 

The speech caused Sansa to gape at her involuntary husband.

“ _Is this still the man who pushed Bran out of a window to kill an eye-witness of his incest?”_ she thought. _“No. No, I don't think so. He's changed. He's grown.”_

 

Aloud, she said: “I'm your wife, no matter how it's all come about. You're overrating my influence. But... you can count on me.”

Ser Jaime's green eyes glittered in the candlelight.

“Good,” he said.

And then, he took her hand and kissed it. Like a knight from the stories. A lump formed in Sansa's throat. She smiled and looked away.

 

They finished their dinner in silence. Afterwards, they washed themselves and went to bed. They blew out the candle and lay down.

“Jaime?” Sansa asked.

“Yes?” her husband answered.

“Can you tell me some more about Casterly Rock?”

Was there a smile in the darkness?

“Sure, Sansa.”

 

Ser Jaime started and regaled her with many details and anecdotes from his home castle and also from Lannisport. It was enjoyable as he was good with words. The way he spoke caused Sansa to wonder if the Rock could feel like a home for her one day, too.

In the end, they dozed off in a relaxed and contented mood.

 

Peace didn't last long. Sansa sat bolt upright in bed at night when her husband started to scream at night. The next moment, the door flew open and the guards came in with drawn swords.

“What is it?” one man called.

 

By then, Ser Jaime had come back to his senses. He was still trembling.

“It's nothing,” he growled. “Just a nightmare.”

“ _Oh,”_ Sansa thought. She often suffered from nightmares herself.

The guards sheathed their swords and left, taking their lantern with them.

 

The Kingslayer was still trembling at her side.

“What was it?” Sansa asked.

“Tyrion's execution,” was the flat answer. “And now, my stump is hurting, too. I think there'll be a weather change.”

“I see,” Sansa whispered and didn't know if she should say anything else.

 

After a minute or two, she heard a muffled sniffle.

“ _Oh my.”_

On instinct, she wrapped her arms around her husband's torso.

“I've become a sissy,” Jaime berated himself.

“No you haven't,” Sansa objected. “Too much has happened.”

 

Then, her husband hugged her close in desperate need.

“Hold me,” he begged. “Please hold me. I need you more than you could possibly ever fathom.”

“Sssht,” Sansa whispered and couldn't believe how wonderful it felt to embrace this man, against all odds – and to be embraced.

“ _We both need consolation,”_ she thought. _“We both need love. We're not in love as such, but we need warmth. And we need to heal and to forget at times. Just how much can we give each other as old enemies?”_

 

Ever so gently, she placed her lips on his for a short moment.

“Sansa,” Ser Jaime whispered hoarsely.

Next, he pressed himself against her and sobbed uncontrollably – until they both fell asleep again, this time from exhaustion.

 


	13. Chapter 13

In the morning, Sansa woke up first. Her face was ice cold, which meant the temperature had dropped.

 _"Jaime was right about the weather change, by the looks of it,"_ Sansa thought.  _"And my lack of hair makes it all the worse."_

She turned her face and gazed at her husband. He had burrowed himself under the blanket with just the nose poking out. Sansa couldn't help herself and grinned at the sight.

For a moment, she warred with herself considering leaving the bed to follow an increasingly urgent call of nature.

 

In the end, she crept out from under the furs, tiptoed to the door and left as quietly as she could. When she returned, Ser Jaime was awake, though still bleary-eyed.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "Feeling better?"

"Hmhm," the Kingslayer grumbled and yawned. "Am I wrong, or the frost biting you in the a... backside out in the corridors?"

Sansa blushed.

"It has snowed at night, I've heard it from the servants," she explained.

 

Ser Jaime grumbled some more.

"Great. Our trip to Casterly Rock will be living hell if things go on like that. For now... I'm all in for a hot tea this morning," he said. "And I've been thinking about things. Time in the dungeons has made me weak. I've always been a fit man, but I'm getting older, and I haven't taken care of my body these past years." He held up his stump and looked at it. "I need to train as best I can until we leave the Red Keep. Snow or no snow."

 

Sansa sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I can understand you feel the need for some training. To be honest, the thought of travelling in the snow after weeks and weeks in prison is quite daunting. Do you think there's something I could do to prepare myself, too?"

 

Ser Jaime sat up, eyes sparkling.

"Sure! That's a good idea! Only..." He furrowed his brow and looked her up and down. "Only these skirts are in the way."

Sansa had to agree. She also thought of tomboyish Arya, even if it hurt.

Somehow, a few very weird sounds left her mouth without having been tested by her brain: "If skirts are not practical, I'll wear trousers."

 

The Kingslayer's eyes sparkled, and a grin spread on his face that caused Sansa to blush.

"Har! What a delight that'll be - to see your curves on display like that. And it's nothing new to me to see a women in man's apparel -"

He stopped short, and his face darkened at the memory of something. Sansa was confused. She couldn't imagine Cersei in breeches. Sure, there were women like late Brienne of Tarth and the Mormont women, who chose to wear mail at times, but Cersei? Never. Weird.

 

Gingerly, Sansa placed a hand on Ser Jaime's shoulder and asked: "Shall I send for some tea?"

Her husband sighed, patted her hand, and was ready to get distracted from his painful recollections.

"Yes. Please. And we need to organise some trousers for you. I'm sure riding will also be easier for you in male garb. You'll be able to feel and to direct the horse much more directly."

Sansa had never seen it from that point of view, but it made sense.

 

Curious, she asked: "And today? What can we do today? We'll have to train in the little yard since we can't use the normal one where the other knights are."

Ser Jaime rummaged through the remains of the food basket.

"For you that's actually better, Sansa. Fewer lecherous eyes. But you're right, our options are limited. Hmmm..."

Sansa thought of the snowball fight on the previous day.

"Do you think we could get some sort of ball and train with that one?"

 

The Kinglsayer started to beam again.

"Good idea! We could also play some sort of game. Something where we have to use the feet since my arms are pretty much useless without a second hand."

Her husband's positive words caused Sansa to glow inside. She was sure no other man would have accepted her wish for some exercise so openly, even less encouraged it.

 _"How is it possible he was so mean in the past and he's so friendly now?"_  she asked herself. She mulled over the question but couldn't decide on a clear-cut answer.

 

Meanwhile, they ordered some tea and washed themselves while they were waiting for it. Sansa was surprised when she noticed her husband was turning his back on her while she was bare and cleaning herself. When they swapped their positions, Sansa found it difficult not to turn and to ogle the Kingslayer. Down in the cells, she had felt him - but she hadn't seen him. And now, they were married and she found she wanted to know more. After all, he was still a handsome man, despite everything he'd been through.

 

Tea arrived after a while, and the two relished the rests of their food. When they were half through their meal, there was a knock on the door.

"Come on in if you don't mind breadcrumbs around," Ser Jaime crowed.

It turned out their visitor was Lord Marbrand, who entered the room with a broad smile on his face.

"Jaime! How good to meet you in such a bright mood. Is it possible your wife is exercising a positive influence on you?" he said.

Sansa got a personal smile and a kiss on the hand, and though she knew such gestures didn't mean much, she still blushed and thanked the rusty-haired man warmly.

 

In the meantime, Ser Jaime said: "Indeed, my friend, my wife plays an increasing part in my well-being. We've just been planning a joint training session in the yard downstairs since we bot need to get fitter for the long road ahead to the Rock. Do you think you could get us some male clothes that would fit Sansa?"

 

Ser Addam's eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

"Surely you don't want your wife to run around like a man!" he exclaimed.

Sansa flushed bright red and considered at once to refrain from their plan.

"Pfft!" Ser Jaime made. "Don't you remember how father forbade Cersei to learn how to fight? It was wrong back then, and it would be wrong to stop Sansa from some much-needed exercise now. Jealous she could look more attractive in breeches than you, Addam?"

 

Lord Marbrand laughed at that, but he also scratched his head and was still dubious about the joint exercise. So the Kingslayer brought up the topic of a sort of ball game where they were only supposed to use their feet.

"You could join in," Ser Jaime tried to lure him.

Ser Addam chuckled.

"Ah, I don't know. But perhaps I should watch you two for a while."

Together, they discussed possible rules.

 

An hour later, male clothes clothes arrived for Sansa. Another twenty minutes later, they were down in the yard. Sansa felt weird in her new garb and was surprised at how much freer her movements were without skirts. She also felt the cold less. Ser Addam stared at her as if she were an apparition of sorts.

With a smirk on his face, her husband drew a big circle on a red wall.

"We have to try to shoot into this field to get a point, and we have to prevent the other one from making a point. But first, we have to run around to get warmer. No need to get hurt."

 

Soon enough, however, the two were running around merrily, with white puffs of air in front of their mouths and sweat on their brow. Sansa focused on the ball, and she realised that strength wasn't everything in this game. Cleverness and a good eye were important, too. Before she even realised what she was doing, she started to swear at Ser Jaime when he stole the ball from her foot and made a point himself. As soon as she noticed, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Her husband laughed in utter mirth.

Sansa noticed the corners of Ser Addam's mouth were trembling; he tried to remain serious, but was failing to do so spectacularly.

"All right - willing to let me join in?" he finally asked.

 

Five minutes later, they were playing together with Jaime and Sansa forming a team against much fitter Lord Marbrand. They were also attracting many curious looks from passers-by.

Another half an hour later, they were beleagured by various squires, and even a hedge knight or two. The Kingslayer invited them to join in. At first, they were more than hesitant because of Sansa - but in due time, they gave up their doubts. When Sansa and her husband finally left, both panting and on their last legs, but in high spirits, a dozen people were still chasing after the ball - and some fifty people were watching from windows, balconies and in the corners of the yard - men and women alike.

"I've got a feeling this might take root," Ser Addam commented, panting like them.

"Maybe. Wouldn't mind. As long as the lads are playing they're not cooking up any foolish things. So... how about a revenge match tomorrow? Same time, same place?"

Lord Marbrand grinned at them, Ser Jaime grinned back, and Sansa couldn't believe how happy she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, we've got a Westerosi form of chess - now, we've got a Westerosi form of soccer. Couldn't help myself. ;-)


	14. Chapter 14

Of course, things didn't stay so positive for long. The backlash appeared in the shape of Sansa's uncle Edmure. Sansa had changed her clothes. She, Jaime and Lord Marbrand were busy talking about details of their trip to the West, and Sansa was enjoying the fact that the men accepted, even welcomed her presence and her ideas... when there was wild banging on the door.

"Open up!" Lord Tully's angry voice boomed.

 

The kingslayer exchanged a meaningful glance with his friend, and Ser Addam rose to open the door.

Whack!

And a fist landed right in Lord Marbrand's face.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed and covered his face with his hands.

 

"Are you mad, trout?" Ser Jaime called out, his own face pallid from shock.

Lord Tully stood there, eyes wide.

Then, his jaws set, and he growled: "Apologies, Lord Marbrand. - The fist was for you, kingslayer, and you know it well."

"What if Sansa had opened the door?" Ser Jaime rumbled back. "You'd have struck your own niece. Really, you should see how the land lies first. And why the necessity to resort to violence? - Addam, are you all right?"

"Ftrong fwinging blow," the copper-haired knight mumbled below his fingers.

 

Sansa got a look at Lord Marbrand's face and pressed a hand onto her mouth: he was bleeding from his nose and lips. At once, she jumped up.

"Your handkerchief, Uncle Edmure!" Sansa demanded.

The Lord Paramount of the Trident was contrite enough to hand her the desired object at once. Sansa took the cloth and dabbed at Ser Addam's bloody face.

 

Meanwhile, her uncle bloated out: "How could you support such things, Kingslayer? I've already heard the news. My niece in men's clothes, showing off her legs like a harlot and running after a ball as if she were retarded."

 

Sansa stiffened. Her face became rigid, and her heartbeat hammered. She was back in the throne room with Joffrey and Cersei when they had called her stupid. In public. When they had considered her lacking.

 

Her husband cast a short look at her. His jaws started to work, and he rose.

"You will not compare Sansa to a harlot, trout!"

Edmure Tully threw up his hands.

"I certainly don't want to liken her to one - but others do so, and you must know it. It's your duty to take care of her and of her position, and in the queen's hierarchy you rank low enough. But what are you doing? You support follies and mummeries of the worst kind. Well, I guess with your personal history I shouldn't expect competence, Kingslayer."

 

Now, it was Ser Jaime who stiffened.

At the same time, there was a flame that flared up in Sansa's heart.

"Uncle, you're forgetting yourself. My husband and I have both lost our families, and these days, we're literally trying to survive. Trying not to give up. Social rank is of little importance at the moment - and even more so since we're about to leave the capital. Since our marriage, Ser Jaime has given me more happiness than I've felt in years. He's also respected me more these last days than you have, I'm sorry to say."

 

Lord Edmure's face froze.

"How can you speak like that, Sansa? We're relatives! And this man is responsible for a lot of the misery that has befallen you and all of Westeros. He's a Lannister! His family has murdered our family. He himself has brought about incredible grief, beginning with the fact he couldn't keep his incestuous cock out of his sister. And you're willing to defend _him_ , of all people?"

 

Sansa's facial muscles felt as if they were made of wax.

In a treacherously mild voice, she spoke: "Say it aloud, uncle. Call it to my face, the word you've got in mind. 'Traitor'. And you know what? I'm used to that word. I've been called it before, and often. 'Traitor'. 'Traitor's daughter'. Here, in the Red Keep. And there's no need to remind me of what has happened. I had to watch father's execution. I had to look at father's severed head, up on the battlements. But you haven't listened, have you? I'm trying to survive. I've come so, so close to the point of breaking. You see... I cannot go on living without hope. There's no future without hope. But hope necessitates forgiving. It necessitates to try to be good and to see the best in one another. Ser Jaime seems to understand that. What about you?"

 

Uncle Edmure's voice was bitter when he answered: "I've had my own lessons with regard to surviving, and with regard to saving my family on top. So spare me your lectures, girl. And this man was there, ready to destroy everything I hold dear. Ready to kill my child, even. You see, I've got hopes, too. My hope is the Kingslayer will die in the near future so he can't harm the Seven Kingsoms any further."

 

Sansa's hands balled into fists.

"I wish no bad blood between you and me, but it looks as if there's no joint basis for a very close relationship at the moment, uncle."

Lord Tully glowered at her.

"That's a point we can agree on, niece." He paused, then continued: "Cat would be devastated if she knew of the way you've developed. Perhaps you and the Kingslayer deserve one another."

And with those words, Lord Tully spun around and left.

 

Sansa covered her face with her hands and uttered a strangled sob.

At that moment, Ser Addam spoke softly: "Ah, I'd say you two do deserve one another - only it's a good thing. Sansa, your uncle is a father and a husband. His loyalties are there, and they're what made him speak so harshly. He's short-sighted besides, metaphorically speaking, and doesn't have a vision. Unlike you. It takes a strong person to do what you're doing, and to see things the way you do."

Sansa sniffled and cried, there was no helping it.

 

The next moment, her husband was at her side and embraced her.

He murmured into her ear: "My father has never defended me the way you've just done. He only ever defended the Lannister heritage, never me. If only I could believe myself worthy of your defence. Your uncle isn't so very wrong with his accusations."

Sansa looked up at her husband and agreed with Lord Marbrand when he emphasised: "Her uncle was wrong where it counted."


	15. Chapter 15

Her husband's friend excused himself soon afterwards, probably sensing it was now Ser Jaime's task to console Sansa - and that Ser Jaime was willing to try to do so. That was what Sansa assumed, even though her mind was shrouded by sadness.

 

Once they were alone, the Kingslayer steered her to the bed, holding her all the while. They lay down, although it was broad daylight. Sansa briefly wondered if her husband would claim his rights now, of all moments... but he didn't. He was... simply there. Allowed her to huddle closer.

 

Sansa thought she shouldn't press herself flush against Jaime Lannister - but the Gods knew she couldn't bring up the energy to keep despising this man. This  _altered_ man. No sneer, no witty talk from his side, no taunting. Had he become more sensitive? But could a man change and become more sensitive? Or had his self-righteous arrogance been some sort of veneer? Then again - if it had been some kind of facade, how had he been capable of pushing Bran out of a window?

 

There were no easy answers for Sansa, neither with regard to the Kingslayer's behaviour nor to her own one. She was a Stark and twice a Lannister now. Oh my.

 

Despite everything, Sansa allowed herself to enjoy his embrace, the physical proximity, his scent, his soothing warmth. Her tears subsided.

_"In a way, it's not so different to what we did and had had down in the cells,"_ she couldn't help thinking.  _"Looks like he warmed me in more than one way there."_

 

"Please," she whispered, and her heart beat faster, "can we be husband and wife again?"

_"Gods!"_  She cringed inwardly.  _"How can I ask such an outrageous thing? As if I were a loose woman."_

 

Only... it was the truth. Oh, she shouldn't beg this man for intimacies, but Sansa realised her body's needs were so strong she couldn't withstand them. And her needs comprised so much more than base lust.

 

Ser Jaime stared her in the eyes. Under all different circumstances, Sansa would have looked away in utter shame, and her cheeks were burning, no doubt about that; but there was no reproach in her husband's green eyes.

_"As if he understands me,"_ Sansa thought.

 

And then, Ser Jaime leaned over and put his mouth upon hers. It was a guarded kiss, and they kept gazing at each other. Even so, Sansa was spellbound. As if by magic, her hands started to roam his body. She was craving to touch his skin, but didn't know if such behaviour would be acceptable.

Then, Ser Jaime deepened the kiss: his tongue flicked against her lips. Sansa gasped. A moment later, she mimicked the action. And somehow, the tips of their tongues suddenly met. A hot wave licked up Sansa's spine. Her husband uttered something like a short purr. Next, their tongues started to explore each other, carefully and thoroughly.

 

Ser Jaime slowly pushed up her skirts. Sansa's heart fluttered like mad. With his good left hand, her husband touched her womanhood, exposed it, caressed her  _there_. Sansa's eyes bulged, then closed; she pressed her head into the cushion, and her back arched in sheer excitement.

"So ready for me," her husband murmured, and his voice was full of wonder.

Sansa didn't know how he'd know, but oh, he was right.

"Please," she whispered again.

 

The Kingslayer fumbled on his breeches with his one hand and freed himself. Then, he slid between her legs, and Sansa could feel his shaft against her sensitive flesh. It was hardening. Sansa felt as if she had ants in her belly.

 

Jaime looked her in the eyes again.

"This is new to me," he admitted.

Sansa blinked.

_"What does he mean? He's experienced!"_

Ser Jaime tensed.

"Time. No fear of being discovered. Gentleness."

 

Sansa pressed her forehead against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. And Ser Jaime pressed himself against her, touched her wherever he could... and slid into her.

It didn't hurt that time. Still, Sansa gasped. And automatically wrapped her legs around her husband's middle.

_"Gods!"_ she thought. " _How is it possible to feel so complete? Why did no-one tell me of THAT?"_


	16. Chapter 16

They kept looking at one another, although Sansa did feel some embarrassment as this sort of physical union was still so new to her. Ser Jaime's green eyes were becoming darker, and his breathing was deeper than normal. So was hers.

 

They kept klinging to one another. Sansa was surprised when her husband wasn't mostly active where they were joined - it was contrary to everything she had heard from Miranda Royce, back in the Vale. Instead, he rubbed his nose against Sansa's, and rather claimed her with his mouth and tongue.

Oh, he did grind himself against her as if he meant to enter her even deeper, but in between his thrusts, he didn't give up an inch of her womanhood - not even for a short instant. Sansa hadn't expected him to nearly repeat his behaviour from further down in the dungeons. Not now, when their living conditions had improved so much.

Yet, she found she liked the way things were developing. Sansa was so conscious of every movement of his hard, pulsating shaft inside of her, and it was beautiful. Gods, was it beautiful!

 

"Hmmm, what a sweet little cunt you've got," Ser Jaime murmured into her ear.

Sansa blushed like mad, and she wanted to tell him not to speak like that, but he silenced her before the first word with a another greedy kiss.

 

Their breath mingled as they proceeded, and their lips shared the little lustful gasps and mewls they produced. On instinct, Sansa opened herself as widely as possible.

It confused her when there were some wet sounds when her husband moved.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in a shaking voice.

Ser Jaime blinked.

"Yes! Fuck yes!" he answered hoarsely. "Why should it be different?"

"It shouldn't," Sansa replied and felt relieved that everything seemed to be in order.

 

Then, something else occurred to her - why was her husband trying to keep his stump away from her body while he was propped up on his elbows?

"Are you in pain?" she asked.

"The sweetest pain of all, Sansa - but what do you mean?"

"Your... stump...," Sansa muttered.

Ser Jaime furrowed his brow.

"No, no pain. Not now, not at all. Don't fret about my stump. I'll get a false hand soon."

 

Despite her arousal, Sansa understood what her husband was thinking and felt the need to correct him: she faced his maimed arm and kissed the scars. Ser Jaime uttered something like a squeal.

Fearing their lustful episode might come to an end now, Sansa hastened to say: "I need you close. Every single inch of you. No matter what."

 

Ser Jaime stared at her. His lips quivered.

"Sansa...," he whispered. 

The next moment, his mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss that followed was so wild and consuming it made Sansa dizzy.

 

They continued their activities. On and on, and now her husband was finally pounding into her. Sansa moaned loudly.

That caused Ser Jaime to somehow get a grip on himself again, though it was a mystery to Sansa how he did that. Like he had said before, Ser Jaime controlled himself to enjoy the time they had like he had never done before. They still kept looking at each other to witness each lustful reaction.

 

At some point, Sansa became delirious with lust. She pressed her eyes shut and writhed under her husband in despair.

"Yes!" Ser Jaime whispered. "Oh yes! Oh please! Let go, Sansa, let go!"

Sansa didn't know what he was referring to, but it didn't really matter. Moments later, the world turned into a spinning blur, she felt hot and cold at the same time.

"Jaime!" she called out and erupted against her husband.

He continued to grind himself against her while Sansa cried and sobbed in extasy as one lustful wave after the other washed over her. Ffinally, finally, he also groaned, tensed, stilled...

... and collapsed on top of her.

 

Sansa's ultimate bliss came to an end then as she had to pant for air. Thankfully, she didn't have to do that for long.

Soon enough, Ser Jaime's lids fluttered open, and he propped himself up a bit - without leaving their position, even less her body. He looked at her, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Why me, Sansa?" he croaked. "Why me?"

Sansa cupped his cheek.

"I didn't ask for this to happen. Would have never wanted this to happen. And things will never be easy for us," Sansa whispered. "But the truth is... I think I'm falling for you, Jaime Lannister."

 

For a moment, her husband simply stared at her as if he didn't understand. Then, breathing turned difficult again as he crushed her to his chest and sobbed into her headscarf. A tear rolled down Sansa's cheek as well.

They remained joined, and Sansa found it had been good to speak of such things while they were still so very, very, close.

 

At some point, their mutual caresses gained a lustful quality again, even if her husband's member was soft. They enjoyed themselves, enjoyed each other. Felt arousal, despite the lacking hardness. That detail somehow didn't mean so much to either of them. And Sansa knew that intimacies with Jaime Lannister would probably never be a standard tumble.

 _"He's unique,"_ was what she thought and didn't know how one could feel as much joy as she was feeling at that moment.


	17. Chapter 17

From this moment on, they commuted between the bed, the food basket, the privy and the little yard for training... their headquarters being the bed. Sansa would have never imagined that it could be so wonderful to be with a man. Readily, she accepted every ounce of happiness and comfort she could get. And of lust. Oh, by the old gods and the new, was it wonderful to feel such extasy! Better still, she gained more, the more she gave herself to her husband.

 

Every so often, Ser Jaime would gaze at her, wonder in his eyes, and shake his head in disbelief.

Once, he murmured: "I didn't know one could feel such contentment. Physically...  yes. But not in the soul."

Sansa rubbed her nose against his and nodded in silence. The more they got to know each other, the more often they could communicate without words.

She didn't understand what it had to be like for Ser Jaime - to feel so much for someone who wasn't of his own blood. What she _did_ understand was that despite the mad outset of their relationship it felt healthier than it had any right to do, but she refused to feel sorry for their budding love.

 

She only wished Ser Addam could have been just as happy with his own wife. Ser Jaime appreciated him almost like a brother, and from the way Lord Marbrand behaved, Sansa was quickly coming to care for him as well. As it was, Lady Marbrand didn't care about her husband in the least - and the red-haired knight reciprocated the lack of feels.

Sansa got to know the Essosi woman the morning before their departure for Casterly Rock. Lady Marbrand turned up while they were all enjoying another match with their ball in the back yard.

 

The whole sport was quickly becoming popular, and the rules were turning more standardised by the day: three mixed teams at three players each competing with one another, three point rings of different sizes drawn on the walls, three watchers to control the match and three thirds with breaks in between. The first teams were using sigils for their teams, as well as team names, such as "Dragon Dreamers", "Red Keepers", "Grass Sea Riders", and some youngsters even called themselves "Flea Bottom's Farts".

 

Sadly, Lady Marbrand didn't show any inclination to join their teams, or even to support them. She was a bland little woman with a pompous hairdo that didn't become her at all. The corners of her mouth didn't look as if they ever smiled. Her nose was high in the air. And she wore extravagant, but impractical shoes that caused her to waddle in the snow like a duck.

Sansa wouldn't have cared much for the lack of style in the woman - but the aura of the Essosi woman was of such a nature that Sansa knew she wouldn't find a new friend here.

The next moment, Ser Addam excused himself and went over to his wife. What ensued between the spouses was some sort of petty argument. Sansa was glad the two were too far away to understand any details.

 

Ser Jaime nudged her and murmured into her ear: "Poor Addam. At least the Lannisters used to have good reasons to be arrogant, but where on earth does this woman get her snobbish ways from?"

Sansa punched him lightly against his chest.

"Husband! Don't say such things!" she chided him. She looked at Ser Jaime's friend. "I only wish he could be happier with his wedded life than he obviously is."

The Kingslayer sighed.

"I'm not overly surprised, you know?"

 

Sansa blinked.

"What are you referring to?"

Ser Jaime rubbed the nape of his neck.

"On the one hand, I'm sure that the queen has arranged this match on purpose. Addam is known to be my friend, so this might be some sort of punishment. Same like our own marriage, I guess. Besides, the queen will want to have a strong, loyal, female, Essosi influence in the West. Only this woman's influence can never be as big as the queen would like it to be."

Sansa's eyebrows rose.

"I don't understand."

 

Her husband coughed and looked at his shoes.

"I... it's not my position to tell you something so private about Addam..."

Sansa inclined her head.

"You mean... is he like the Knight of Flowers?"

Ser Jaime stared at her.

"You've heard...?"

"I've come to understand these things in the course of my stay at the Vale."

Ser Jaime nodded quickly.

"Oh. I see. All right. Now... no Addam isn't like the Knight of Flowers. But suffice to say... there will never be any children in this marriage."

Sansa furrowed her brow. She didn't understand the specifics, but she had learned enough.

"Poor Lord Marbrand."

 

After a moment's silence, Ser Jaime mumbled without looking at her: "I wish _us_ to have children one day."

Sansa's heart gave an unruly jolt.

"Are you sure?"

Ser Jaime cleared his throat.

"I was never allowed to be a father. So I used to push these thoughts away. And these feelings. But now... there's an emptiness inside of me. And... the urge to do better. But don't you ever tell anyone else, wife. I'm admitting this to you, but not even to myself. End of story."

 

Sansa's heart was in her throat. She wanted to throw herself at her husband and to hug him until she'd knock the air out of his lungs - but she refreained from doing so in public. In that respect, life had trained her too well.

 

Only moments later, she realised she was doing right by remaining careful in the Red Keep.

A servant approached her, bowed, and announced: "Lady Lannister. Please follow me. You're expected in the queen's presence."


	18. Chapter 18

While Sansa was walking down the corridors of the Red Keep, her heart was palpitating much faster than her strides were. So she squared her shoulders and held herself straight.

 _"I've been through so much already. I'll survive this, too,"_ she thought.

 

All too soon, the guards admitted her to the queen's quarters. Was it a good sign the meeting would be taking place in a reception room and not in the Throne Room? Sansa wasn't sure.

 

Daenaerys Targaryen was wearing the most elegant silvery and violet garb, which matched her hair and eyes. She wore amthysts in her hair, and Sansa remembered the amethysts she had worn once... She knelt before the queen and greeted her.

 

"Lady Lannister," the Targaryen woman spoke. Her facial expression was nondescript. "You and your husband will be leaving us tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace. As you wish. We've nearly ended our preparations for the journey."

Queen Daenaerys eyed her up and down.

"Male clothes? I've heard of this new kind of sport you've initiated, and I don't like it. Yesterday, two of my Dothraki men had an argument about a match and killed each other."

 

Sansa had a hard time not to wince. She hadn't heard of this incident yet.

"I'm sorry to hear this. Our sport is just supposed to be a game, and I can't support such aggression. We had no intentions to trigger off such a development."

The queen waved her hand impatiently.

"If I believed you to have had such a plan, my reaction would be a different one. But I still want to express my anger about all of this. Henceforth, your sport will be forbidden in King's Landing."

Sansa inclined her head.

"As you wish, Your Grace."

 

Queen Daenaerys went on: "There's something else I wanted to tell you. I've been in contact with your half brother in the North."

_"Jon."_

The Targaryen woman snipped an imaginary lint off her dress.

"Your half brother and I have reached an important and necessary agreement. We'll marry. We need to join forces to fend of the undead menace."

 

How Sansa managed not to let her jaw drop she'd never know. However, she couldn't keep her eyes from widening and her eyebrows from rising.

"Yes, yes," the queen said. "I know. It's all most surprising. Now. There's one point I want to make clear: Should you ever so much as give your brother the faintest hint my dragons had anything to do with your sister's death, it'll mean the immediate death of you, your half brother, your husband, and any possible future children. Have I made myself clear?"

 

Sansa had never known for sure whether Queen Daenaerys had been aware of having killed Arya. Over the previous days, she had found out that the incident of the burned inn - and especially of Arya's death there - wasn't generally known. But now, Sansa had her answer and knew better.

_"Arya. Jon's favourite sibling. This is so, so disgusting. Poor Jon."_

 

Aloud, she said: "My half brother won't get to know anything from my side. Or from my husband or anyone around for that matter. But I can't guarantee for any other people who have witnessed what happened back at that inn."

 

Daenaerys smiled at her icily.

"There are no other witnesses left, I assure you."

A shiver crept down Sansa's spine. She inclined her head once again and remained quiet.

 

The Targaryen queen said: "Now. That would be it, Lady Lannister. Oh, one last question: how do you like your wedded life?"

Sansa shrugged.

"I've been prepared for an arranged marriage all my life, and I know my duties. Lord Jaime and I make do, I think."

"Ah, yes." The queen nodded. "As I've said: that would be it. You may leave."

 

Back on her way to her private quarters, Sansa's thoughts bumbled through her head. Her knees felt wobbly.

She didn't know what to make of the latest developments. Not yet. She'd need time to process the news. And she'd confer with her husband. For the time being, she felt queasy.

_"Jon, Jon, what are you getting yourself into?"_


	19. Chapter 19

As soon as Sansa opened the door to her chamber, Jaime shot up inside and threw himself at her, crushing her to his chest as if he meant to break her ribcage.

"Are you all right?" he breathed into her ear in a grating voice.

Sansa started to cry.

Jaime cursed and rumbled: "I'll cut that dragon woman in half. I'm good at such things. Why not do to the daughter what I did to the father?"

 

At once, Sansa covered his mouth with her hand.

"Hush!" she demanded and tried to stifle a hiccup. "Don't say such things! Especially not here in the Red Keep!"

Jaime kissed her silent.

 

After a long moment, he asked: "What's happened?"

Sansa sighed, pressed her cheek against his collarbone, and began her account of what had occurred in the presence of the queen.

The longer she talked, the paler Jaime became.

 

In the end, he spat: "After Robert's rebellion, I should have seized the Iron Throne and married Cersei, if I compare it to what Daenaerys Targaryen is planning. Honestly, is she really trying to pull off an Aegon the Conqueror with your cousin?"

"She continued to call him my half brother during our meeting. By the look of it, she's trying to downplay her own relationship with Jon."

What Sansa didn't voice was her dislike about Jaime thinking of a marriage with Cersei, even if it was only a sarcastic and retrospective intellectual game.

 

Jaime nodded and mused: "It was wise of you not to point out her inconsistencies. And I can only agree with your thoughts. What I don't understand is how your cousin can agree to such an arrangement. I remember him dimly from the stay in Winterfell, and if I'm not sorely mistaken, he didn't strike me as someone who'd do such a thing."

 

Sansa needed a few moments to come up with some adequate thoughts on the matter.

"He's returned from the dead. I wonder what changes having been revived by magic may have brought about. Maybe, Jon has changed for the worse. Who knows?"

Jaime rubbed his nose, deep in thought.

Sansa continued: "Another possibility is that this  marriage is a sign of Jon's despair. I wonder how very much in need of every ounce of help he must be to agree to marrying Daenaerys. Really - how bad must the 'undead menace' be?"

 

 Jaime glowered into the distance.

"He must be seeing himself as some sort of sacrifice, if you ask me - and if he doesn't do so now, he'll think along these lines once he gets to know the queen better."

 

Sansa covered his mouth again.

"Shhht! Do you want to put us into danger with your loose mouth?" she chided.

Jaime sighed.

"My old ailment," he said. "My mouth has always been quicker than my brain."

"Perhaps we should glue your lips together then. Until we'll have left the capital," Sansa suggested.

 

Her husband smirked at her.

"Your kisses would seal off my lips effectively," he suggested.

"You're insufferable!" Sansa exclaimed.

Jaime's grin widened.

"Guilty of charge. And to make things worse, I'm a dirty lecher of the worst kind. Shall I tell you what I -"

"Lord Lannister! Behave! At once!"

Jaime screwed up his eyes.

"Spoilsport," he said and harrumphed.

 

There were moments when Sansa thought that Arya would have murdered the Kingslayer with a blunt spoon. This was one such moment.

But then, she thought: _"He's distracted me from my sorrow with his lewd ways. And I bet he's done it on purpose, even if he always keeps his intelligence under a bushel. He's cleverer than one might think, and perhaps he's got more from his smart father than one would see at first sight. He's just not as coldhearted as his sire."_

 

Some more light-hearted bickering followed, and Sansa accepted, even enjoyed it. Chuckles and laughter notwithstanding, her thoughts kept returning to Jon.

 _"I'll have to tread very carefully here from now on,"_ she pondered.  _"But I'll not avoid using the path in question. Just for the time being, I'll have to focus on my trip to the Rock."_

There would have been times when she'd have despised to see the Lannister seat. As it was, she was now looking forward to it. She could barely await to set out from the capital.


	20. Chapter 20

Later, Lord Marbrand and Jaime had a last meeting in the inner yard of their wing.

"No sports this time," Sansa told them. "You know what the queen has decreed."

Ser Addam shook his head.

"We'll just go through the last inspection list I've made in the stables. Most goods have already been transported to a lockable storage room there, so we can start early enough in the morning. My men and some men from the queen will accompany us and keep us safe. And the latter men will report back to Her Grace, of course. As well as my wife."

"Of course," Sansa murmured. "And while you're downstairs, I'll write Jon a letter."

 

So the two men took their leave, and Sansa sat down with feather, ink, and a little parchment light enough for a raven. For quite a while, she pondered her situation and the question what she could write - especially since she was under obligation to leave out some crucial pieces of information.

In the end, she sighed and started.

 

_"Dear Jon,_

_I hope you are well. We haven't been in contact for such a long time - I hope you will appreciate receiving a letter from my hand after everything that has happened. Rumors have it that many things have occurred to you and that magic has played no little part in your existence. Please tell me how you are, because the last news have been upsetting, even if we have never been that close in our childhood. We are still family, and Winter Is Coming. No. Winter is there._

_What can I tell you about myself?_

_I'm married to Ser Jaime Lannister now. Maybe, you will have heard of it by the time you are holding these lines in your hands._

_At the moment, we are still in King's Landing, but we will set out for Casterly Rock tomorrow. You should direct any message there, be it by raven or messenger._

_I would be overjoyed to hear from you._

_Yours,_

_Sansa"_

 

Sansa re-read the letter several times. It was difficult to find the right tone, to sound open and welcoming while not giving away any details. And there was the former difficult family situation and the fact Jon and Arya had always been so much closer as siblings. Sansa could only hope her wording was acceptable.

She sighed, rolled up the paper and put it on the table for Ser Addam, who'd be allowed into the rookery and would send off the raven.

 

Later, Jaime and his copper-haired childhood friend returned. Their faces were relaxed, but determination blinked in their eyes.

Sansa smiled.

"So everything is all right? Oh, and here's the letter. Would you see it off?"

"Sure. And indeed, my lady," Lord Marbrand hummed. "We've tried to think of all possible details, and everything should be fine. We'll have to get up well before sunrise so we can start early and can cover a good distance on the first day."

Jaime grinned.

"We've also packed salves and ointments for our sore backsides after a day in the saddle."

Sansa thought of what Sandor Clegane would have said to the concept of ointments. Or to the concept of backsides in general. Had the burned warrior ever had sore - ?

She coughed.

 

Aloud, Sansa said, suddenly daring: "My dearest husband, surely you'll not expect me to rub a salve into the skin of your behind?"

From then on, Ser Addam's hair wasn't the only part of his face with a reddish hue.

Jaime retaliated: "Oh sure! I mean - what are wives for if not for such gentle care? And I mean... this goes for both sides. I'm certainly looking forward to your -"

"Uhhh," Lord Marbrand cut in. " I think I should better leave you two to your own devices now. We all better get _enough sleep_ tonight."

And with these words and a wave of his hand, he strutted out of the room.

 

Jaime snorted.

"In the past, he wasn't such a maid, I tell you."

"Maybe, it's his unhappy marriage that makes teasing about the marriage bed a bit of a problem for him," Sansa offered.

Her husband became serious.

"I don't hope so. Let's pray to the seven he'll be able to frolic again when we return home."

Sansa could only agree.

 

"And now," Jaime said with another sudden impish grin on his face, "I want to see that pert little arse of yours, wife - without a stinky ointment."


	21. Chapter 21

They didn't get much sleep that night. First, they enjoyed a passionate tumble, which they both prolonged after the climax by staying joined, accompanied by some careful grinding and deep kissing. They couldn't let go of one another, simple as that.

Not for the first time did Sansa ponder how loving her husband could be underneath that patina of golden Lannister arrogance.

 

Later, when they had fallen asleep, they woke again from Sansa screaming because of a nightmare. Joffrey had been trying to force her to bathe in her father's blood. Sansa didn't tell Jaime any details. Thankfully, it wasn't necessary. Her husband wrapped his stump and his good arm around her and held her close - and that was that.

 

Around the hour of the wolf, their slumber was interrupted once more. Jaime's stump was twitching, and he was stifling some whimpers.

"The wound hurts?" Sansa asked.

"Clever one," Jaime commented acidly between clenched teeth.

Sansa couldn't be angry with him in this situation.

She simply asked: "Do you want some sweetsleep?"

"No!" Jaime retorted. "Tomorrow, I'll need my wits about me."

Only after an hour did the pain abate. There was precious little time left for a final nap.

 

When they finally rose well before sunrise, both of them had red-rimmed eyes.

"We look like white rabbits," Jaime commented and jawned. "Can't be helped. The queen won't be there to check on whether our leaving will meet any aethetical standards."

 

After a quick washing they made for the stables. Finally, they were allowed to leave this tract of the Red Keep! Although Sansa was tired, her spirits rose.

Addam Marbrand and his entourage were already in the court, his wife staying at the rear of the group.

Sansa greeted the copper-haired knight, who beamed down at her from his horse.

He said: "It's high time we return to the West. I can't wait to be home again."

Sansa stepped closer and patted his arm.

"I can understand that. I hope it'll turn into a home for me, too."

"I'll see to it," Lord Marbrand emphasised.

Then he bethought himself for a moment, bowed down, and murmured into her ear: "I've got a woman back home. Nobody I could have married; a commoner. But we've been in love for years, and nothing can change that."

 

Sansa's eyes widened.

"Oh!"

That was all she said.

Lord Marbrand sighed.

"I hope you won't think worse of me for not being able to stay faithful to my wife."

Sansa shook her head.

"It's not my place to judge you for it.The gods know you didn't ask for this marriage."

Lord Marbrand's features relaxed, and he smiled sadly.

 

For a long moment, Sansa was busy mounting her horse. She had never mastered the saddle, so it took her a while to get up.

From a bit further ahead, she could hear Jaime call: "Ha! Still more elegant than me with my stump. What a sorry sight I am."

It wasn't true, for he had mounted his courser easily enough despite his handicap, but Sansa let him talk; he just wated to make the affair less awkward for her - or perhaps he compared his situaition to the way it had been before he had lost his hand.

Once Jaime was properly seated, he let his horse trot around to inspect their entourage and the luggage on their carts.

 

Meanwhile, Addam Marbrand addressed Sansa again in a hushed, hesitant voice.

"There is something I've been thinking about, my lady. As far as I know... I can't have any children. So I intend to make your children my heirs - if you'll let me."

Sansa's eyes became as wide as saucers, and her mouth hung open. What on earth was this man telling her, so early in the morning and in the middle of a buzzing traveling party!?

_"It must have been on his mind for days, otherwise he wouldn't tell me now. He must be so upset!"_ Sansa thought.

She stuttered: "Oh! Whoa. I'm overwhelmed."

Now, it was Ser Addam, who patted her arm.

 

He was just about to say some more when Jaime arrived and tried his best to sound jovial.

"Now look at this! Are you two flirting? And right under my nose?"

Sansa detected a tense undertone, and she shook her head.

"Lord Marbrand - with your approval, I'll tell my husband in a quiet minute what we've been talking about."

Ser Addam nodded, and Jaime's gaze flitted back and forth between them.

 

"All right," he finally conceded. "We better leave now. Ugh! Look at that! There's this creamy-coloured dragon in the air, if I'm not mistaken. Looks like the queen wants to see us off in her very own style. Let's hope the beast isn't there to roast our arses. Off we go!"

 

Nobody needed to tell them twice. After another moment, the trek started with squeaking wooden wheels and the clop-clop-clop of many hooves on cobblestone.

 

Sansa's heartbeat accelerated, and she looked up at the dragon time and again. When they passed the gates of the Red Keep, a cold wave licked up her spine. She remembered the day she had left the palace the last time. It had been far more dramatic, but this here was still more exciting than she would have wished for.

 

Finally, finally, they reached the gates of Kings Landing. The road ahead looked so inviting, and the air already started to smell sweeter.

Sansa had a lump in her throat. She looked at her husband, who was now riding beside her, and smiled. He smiled back at her. They needed no words.

_"This may look like the end of an episode,_ _"_ she thought. _"But actually, it's a beginning. OUR beginning."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last one.


	22. Post scriptum

**One year later**

 

_Dearest sister,_

_for you will always be my sister,_

 

_thank you for your last letter. Your words are rays of sunshine in these dark times. It has been a great joy to hear of your pregnancy. And liekly twins? This is an extraordinary sign if you ask me. It is even more relevant since the queen and I will not have any children. I am aware that it is no secret that my wife and I are not in a position to beget offspring. So let me emphasise that your family will form the roots for Westerosi life after the end of the white menace._

 

_You will certainly want to know how the war against the Others and the White Walkers is going these days._

 

_First of all, the integration of the Wildlings into our ranks is continuing - slowly and not without conflicts, but surely. We are still losing many men. Far too many men. So you can imagine how grateful we are in the North about the new troops from the more Southern regions of Westeros. You may be proud of the people from the West; there are many decent fighters among them, also among the women._

 

_I am sure you will be glad to hear that my marriage to Queen Daenaerys has got the desired effects. Her dragons are a great help in the North. Their flames kill the undead by the dozens with each attack. They also cover the distances along the Wall at a great speed. Better still, we have found out how to make dragon glass with their fiery breath, so we have got more potent weapons against our enemies. Without the help of the dragons, mankind would be doomed._

 

_In these times, personal feuds must go into hibernation, there is no other way. Your life is a good example, Sansa, also for me. Your marriage appears to go even beyond a pause from personal enmities. I can sense your warm feelings for your husband in your letters and cannot help but envy you for your private happiness._

_My being revived from the dead makes such a possibility impossible for me. While I am not a White Walker, a part of my soul is gone and another one craves the peace of the afterlife. But do not worry - I want to go on, and with the help of the gods, I will persevere. When the war is over, it would give me great joy if we could meet again. As you know, my watch as a black brother has ended, but for now, I_ _still_ _have got too many responsibilities here in the North.  
_

 

_Now, I have to dwell some more on the war. Thank you once again for the fighters you have sent. I also know how difficult your situation is in the West and how you are fighting to re-establish your own position. Still, I have to ask you for more support. Please confer with the Warden of the West on whether you can send some provisions. The winter must be bad enough where you are - but here in the North, our conditions are extreme. We will be grateful for anything, be it food or armour. I hope you can find it in you to support us some more._

 

_Now, I have to tell you some very good news. There are rumours of Bran and Rickon having survived the recent winter so far! Will you believe it? I cannot give you any details yet, I still have to check the situation first, but the signs appear to be reliable; otherwise I wouldn't write about it in this letter. Let us pray to the Old Gods that it is all true!_

 

_I am looking forward to your next letter, hopefully with good news of the birth of your babies. Please let me know!_

 

_In the meantime I remain -_

_not your cousin, but your brother._

_Jon_


End file.
